


Spellbound

by andchaos



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23117902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: Mac, like most people, was born with magicka in him. Unlike most people, he’s got what’s classified as dark magicka—illegal to perform...but that’s what makes it twice as fun to cast.When he and Charlie aren’t picking fights or practicing in secret, they spend their days running illegal dark magick on the underground, all over the city. There’s a little shop nestled in the heart of Philadelphia where product seems legitimate, but Mac and Charlie can recognize a front when they walk into its knock-off tarot cards on the shelf.But Mac doesn’t care about that. Mac’s more interested in the owner’s son.And Dennis, well. Dennis has much bigger concerns than magicka.
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	Spellbound

**Author's Note:**

> written for the IASIP Big Bang 2019-20! :) I've been working on this fic for so long and I still can't believe the day to post it is here!!! This started as (mainly) a quest to put more ridiculous AUs into the Sunny community and ended with me thinking, well, I'll never write again but if somebody else does, I hope this inspires you to make it an AU. Much love ❤
> 
> TWs: Classism, homophobia
> 
> Please check out the art for this fic @ [pepesilviahateblog](https://pepesilviahateblog.tumblr.com)! It's really indescribable, looks SO cool and I'm so happy & lucky to see this lil fic represented that way! 💕💘💖

The sun was just setting over the river, still bright enough to play catch by if you were sitting on the banks or sprawled in lawn chairs on any of the porches lined up and down the apartments across the park. But here, sitting on the roof shrouded by brick walls, where they always went after a long day to smoke blunts and practice in peace, Mac and Charlie were as in the dark as they would be if night had already fallen.

Charlie, presently, was ignoring Mac in favor of prodding at the fire they had successfully had going for the last hour and a half, until it went out very recently. Charlie poked at one of the sticks, still festering red with heat, and jumped back with a terrible yelp.

He sucked his finger into his mouth, his eyes huge.

“I burned myself,” he sulked.

Mac snorted. Slouched against the wall, still watching the hand that he held aloft over a knee, Mac said, “No shit, Merlin. You stuck your hand into a firepit.”

“It was turned off!”

Mac sneered. “Just hurry up and make us another fire, dipshit. Night’s about to drop.”

Though he muttered what Mac was sure was a colorful string of insults, Charlie held his hands over the firepit. A few seconds later, flame sparkled to life, tiny but energized, beneath a twig. Within a minute, half the pile had been engulfed. Charlie sat down with a smirk.

Despite his tendency to break out in random bursts of flame when he didn’t get his way, Mac had to admire his friend’s gift for fire. It came more naturally to him than Mac had seen any magick come to anyone. Even if he _did_ burn down his mom’s apartment in the second grade.

Charlie leaned back to slap him on the side of the knee.

“What are you working on, man?”

Mac and Charlie had to practice at night, or in shadowy areas of the city. Luckily, they came from the shadows—but they still had to be careful, because cops often circled the skies in their part of town. Ever since the majority Republican vote at the last city election, officials were always on the lookout for chances to prove they were tough on crime. Especially dark magick, since their state governor decided to impose a wave of crackdown legislation on this “worst and most dangerous brand of magicka that’s been on the rise, threatening our American way of life.”

They didn’t know shit about America. America was all about freedom and democracy, even if constituents liked to throw void balls into crowded concert halls because it was funny how they swallowed important sound equipment as it bounced around the room fizzling out. Everyone should get a say. Everyone should get to do what they want.

“I’m trying to make tornado,” Mac said, eyebrows knitted together. His tongue poked out.

Charlie scooted closer, watching black mist wisping from his palms. “You already make great void clouds.”

“No, not clouds,” said Mac. “Tornados.”

“So...angry clouds?”

“Yeah, angry clouds,” he grunted. “Shut up and let me concentrate.”

Charlie laid his chin on Mac’s propped knee, watching him play around in silence. He liked seeing Mac practice. Mac had always thought that Charlie was weirdly jealous of him; something about the blank nothingness of his magick fascinated him—when Mac replicated space on the head of a quarter, Charlie could squint inside for hours.

After awhile more of watching Mac struggle to do anything with the limp ball of black cloud in his hands, Charlie scooted away to sit on the other side of the cramped roof, facing him.

“When are you going into midtown tomorrow?” Charlie said.

“I don’t know. Around lunch rush?” Mac shrugged. “That’s usually when the most suckers are out and about. Why? You need a backup or something?”

Charlie shrugged.

“Yeah, thought I’d tag along. To help you if you need it, you know. Whatever. Since you’re already grabbing the bus and shit, I figured I could run some errands—”

“Sure, come over at eleven.” He gave up on the tornado thing; weather was not his forte. He should have known better than to try and edge past the limits of his magicka. Almost everyone had something, but that was all you got. Mac balled up some blackness instead and tossed it over to Charlie. When it hit Charlie’s hands, lightning sparked and crackled around the edges until Charlie got a good enough grip on it to throw it back. “Hey, can you make that lightning hold? I want to see what it feels like.”

Charlie laughed. “Sure, let me try.”

The doorbell sang out just before eleven. Mac yanked his underwear up and was toweling his wet hair when he let Charlie in.

“Hey,” he said. “There’s some breakfast left on the stove if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks,” said Charlie, already making his way over to the counter.

“Can you help me rewrap my bandages before we head out?”

“Sure,” said Charlie. “Wait, you're still wearing the bandages?”

Mac shrugged on a t-shirt, pulling it down over his stomach just in time to free his head and throw Charlie a withering glance.

“Yes, Charlie. I’ve only had them since last night. When _somebody_ put lightning into my void ball!” Mac yanked out the chair across from him and stole one of his chocolate-covered strawberries. “And I got burned!”

He held up both hands to show off the angry blisters there. Charlie recoiled, pushing Mac’s wrists away with his fork.

“That’s disgusting, man,” he said. “Put it away.”

“Charlie! Will you help me wrap it?”

“Yes, fine! Just put it away while I’m eating.”

Muttering, Mac hid his hands in his lap.

By the time Charlie finished licking Mac’s used plate clean, they were running late for the bus. Mac barely had time to pull on pants before they had to go, and his burned hands were smarting in the autumn chill. They squeezed into seats on the bus—Mac was half-sitting in Charlie’s lap, it was always so crowded, they were just happy to sit down at all—and Charlie finagled the ace bandages out of Mac’s leather jacket. They elbowed a lot of other passengers nearby in the process, until finally Mac gave up being squeezed between his best friend on one side and a smelly stranger on the other; he hauled himself into Charlie’s lap without asking first, ignoring Charlie’s grumbled complaints as he got settled straddling him.

“Keep it in your own home, flamers,” someone said.

Mac scowled over his shoulder.

“Well, I am gay, but this is purely for medical reasons.”

“Just—shut up so we can get this over with,” Charlie said, yanking Mac’s chin to make him look at him.

By the time Charlie finished wrapping Mac’s hands properly, they were nearly to their stop. Mac slid off his lap into the seat beside as soon as it got vacated, reaching back at the same time to yank the stop chain.

“Better?” said Charlie.

“No. I have lightning burns on my hands.”

“You _asked_ —” Glancing around, Charlie dropped his voice lower. “You asked me to add the lightning! At least your scars look cool.”

Charlie elbowed him, grinning. Reluctantly, Mac laughed.

“Yeah, that’s true. Dudes love scars.”

“Exactly.” Charlie beamed. “I’m just beefing up the value of your sex appeal!”

Mac snorted. “Bitch, shut up. It’s our stop. Come on.”

He yanked Charlie off the bus after him by the hood of his grubby sweatshirt.

They got through half the names on Mac’s list before Charlie’s grumbling stomach got so loud it was distracting; he’d already been complaining for twenty minutes when Mac finally got sick of him and pulled them into a deli just to shut him up. Mac fought with the cashier loudly over the contents of an italian meatball sub while Charlie shoveled display chips into Mac’s backpack, and they sat outside to happily munch into their spoils.

“Who else do you have to deliver to today?” Charlie asked, reaching a sauce-covered hand into the salt and vinegar chips they were sharing.

Mac uncrumpled the list in his breast pocket, glancing it over.

“I’ve got a meeting with that weird snake oil lady by the bookstore,” he said, mapping out where he should go first so they’d end up by the bus station that would take them back into South Philly at the end of the day. “A couple at-home deliveries on the way to that French restaurant that always plays terrible live music, you know, those guys with the cellos.”

“I like it there,” Charlie said.

“Shut up, Charlie.” Mac cast him a withering look. Crushing his list back in his fist, he asked, “Where do you have to go today? We can probably squeeze it in between my two and three o’clocks. They just want me to drop off some spellbooks, it’s _pathetic_ how much people around here will pay me because they’re too pussy to come downtown and buy their dark magick paraphernalia themselves. They live close, though, we’ll have some time for whatever you need to do.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Charlie shrugged, upending ketchup over his sandwich. “I’m gonna be a little late, but who gives a shit.”

“Delivery?”

“Nah, some old bitch wanted me to come have a look at his wares. Tell him what they’re worth, you know, I guess he’s trying to break into the market or something.” Charlie shrugged. “Even if it’s worthless I’m sure I can get him to pay me to freak out one of his enemies or something. Rich fucks like that always have enemies. I could set them on fire!”

“You always wanna set people on fire,” Mac said, and then just as disparagingly: “You wanna get into mercenary work? Really?”

“Maybe,” he said defensively. “Why not? I could do it! You do it!”

“Yeah, for like three clients. And very _rarely_ .” Mac rolled his eyes. “It’s not that fun, Charlie. Most of the time you just spy on boring losers, trust me, it’s _not_ worth what the cops will do if they catch you.” 

“Excuse me?” someone asked behind them.

Ignoring this, Charlie stuck out his tongue. “Whatever.”

“Excuse me, are you—”

“Don’t _whatever_ me, Charlie! I know what I’m talking about!”

“Oh, big man makes two diplomats disappear and suddenly he thinks he’s a big shot who _knows_ things!”

“What are you talking about?” Mac demanded. “That is so badass! In fact, that sounds way more badass than I originally thought—”

“They were from Moscow and that weird crabbing country! Who gives a _shit_?” Putting on his high, mocking voice, he added, “Oh look at me! I’m Mac and I can fight boring nobodies from Russia as long as I can sneak up behind them and blind them with void before they ever see me! Oh, I’m so big and tough and definitely not a pussy—”

“I am not a pussy!” said Mac, nearly stomping his foot. “I’d like to see you try to take out two—and they were _jacked_ , bro. I took down two beefcakes, what the fuck have _you_ ever done that’s so cool?”

“Hey!” said the person behind them, and Mac and Charlie whirled around at the same time to shout, “ _What_?!”

They both stopped short as they took in the guy demanding their attention. He was strapped, and tall; Mac’s eyes wandered slowly up to his face, swallowing hard. The intimidating beefcake was glaring at him.

“You Mac?” he asked.

“Am I—? No, no, definitely not. That is.” Mac pointed at Charlie, who recoiled with a yelp.

“What?! Me? No, I’m not—“

“I don’t know what you want him for, but that’s Mac. My name is Charlie Kelly.”

“You asshole!” said Charlie, eyes darting nervously down to the beefcake cracking his knuckles. “Don’t listen to him, I’m the real Charlie!”

“He is not!” Mac yelled desperately, “I've never even met this guy, until just now, I don’t even know if Mac is his real name—”

“I am going to rip off your face and eat it!” Charlie screamed at him.

“We don’t really give a shit who’s who,” said the guy, which was the same time that another, equally large man came out of the deli to join him at his shoulder. “We saw you giving goods to Gladys King earlier today, so as far as we’re concerned, you’re working together. Even though last week we _know_ Duncan told you to stop coming around here.”

“Come on,” Charlie stuttered, putting up his hands. “Me and Duncan are tight!”

“Yeah.” He shook his head. “You’re really not.”

Mac was reluctantly impressed by the ease with which Beefcake #1 lifted him out of his chair by the front of his shirt and tossed him to the ground. Their chairs clattered out to the sides as Mac hit the pavement. He could hear dirt scratching up the back of his nice leather jacket, and he growled, clawing blindly out in front of him. He thought he swiped the side of someone’s face, but it didn’t seem to do much because a minute later he got slammed through the storefront window and crashed over a table. Groaning, Mac rolled onto his back.

“The fuck—?”

“Hey, you dicks! I’m trying to enjoy my fucking meal here!”

Someone stepped over Mac’s face and stalked outside. Then came a grunt as a body hit the storefront. Mac propped himself up onto his elbows to watch.

“Mac!” Charlie called, clawing his way around the door. “Help, please!”

Beefcake #2 snatched him by the shoulders and Charlie disappeared. Mac frowned. Also, his shoulder was hurting like a bitch; he massaged it, hoping the wetness he was feeling there wasn’t blood. That would be _so_ not what he needed today.

“Don’t you have any magicka?” sneered whomever was fighting with the one who’d thrown Mac through the window. “Who fights with their fists? Oh, shit!”

A woman yelled out, “Hey! Put him down, asshole, or I’ll get blamed for killing him,” and stepped over Mac after her friend. Beefcake #1 got shoved up against the broken window, and he grunted, face twisting in pain; Charlie yelled something, and in the space between Mac turning between his fight and the other, Beefcake #1 started clutching at his throat, gasping for air—and then he slid cleanly down to the floor. The guy whose table Mac got tossed over was standing behind him, face blotchy red, eyes narrowed, looking absolutely furious. Mac stared.

The blonde woman was tugging on his arm, harping on about something in his ear.

“Let’s go,” she urged. “Dennis, we can’t get another mark on our records. This time’s jail time, remember?”

“I...yeah,” he said, glancing around the scene like he was coming back to himself. His eyes slid over Mac and held for a second. “Yeah, let’s…Let’s go.”

She rolled her eyes, sighing. “That’s what I _said—_ You know what, whatever.”

The guy didn’t look at him again; the woman pulled on his elbow and successfully steered him away. Holding his head, Mac stumbled to his feet and staggered outside, where Charlie was leaning against the wall, breathing hard.

“Thanks for all your help,” Charlie said witheringly.

Mac glanced behind him, where Beefcake #1 was still passed out. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

“What do you mean? I got that one,” he said.

Charlie squinted at him. He shook his head, muttering something. Mac started to ask what he meant by that but before he could, they could hear sirens in the distance. They looked at each other.

“Or we could fight about this on the way,” said Charlie.

Mac nodded hastily. “Right.”

They scrambled to slip into the shadows stretching out, long and lazy, behind the buildings; the bickering started halfway through the back alleys toward Mac’s next house visit. They only shut up for exactly as long as it took to sell a bushel of wolfsbane and two stalks of belladonna, and then started off again the second the front door shut behind them. Charlie counted the cash as they set off down the long, winding driveway, while Mac hissed his defense about what happened at the deli.

The sun was slothing its way through the hottest part of the day, but it was still cool enough outside that Mac pulled his collar up to keep warmer as Charlie led them down a few more blocks.

They crossed the street and doubled back down the main road—they must be close to the shop by now.

“So how do you know this guy again?” said Mac.

“Met him at a titty bar,” said Charlie.

Mac sighed, but he didn’t even have time to tell Charlie not to associate with rich men at strip clubs because Charlie shouldered open the door, and the admonishment got lost in Mac’s wonder as he looked around.

It was a very generic magick shop, except everything was glistening. Mac didn’t know much about businesses that dealt legitimately in magicka, the good and lawful kind, but he could tell this stuff was supposed to look expensive—the trouble, of course, was that Mac knew a fake when he saw one. Most of these wares were a crock, or at least steeply exaggerated.

Mac snorted as he drifted to the side to thumb through their stock more closely while Charlie beelined for the counter and hit the bell.

Mac pulled down a herbology book tailored for people who camped in the Wissahickon and began flicking through it. He turned to watch, vague and disinterested, as an old man came out, grinning at Charlie, and opened his arms to put an arm around Charlie’s shoulder and lead him into the back. Mac put the herbology book down and drifted to look at their collection of incense.

He was amassing a little collection to take advantage of the 25 for $5 deal when a clatter came from across the shop. Mac jumped, snapping all the incense he had gathered cleanly in two. His eyes jumped to the guy huddled in the wall of books by the front entrance—slouched in the corner like that, Mac must have missed him when they came in. The guy sniffed and turned away. Cheeks flushing, Mac turned to the wall behind him and grabbed something at random, anything for a distraction—he looked down and found himself holding a poster with the 5 Rules for Acceptable Magick written on it in fancy script. Lip curling, Mac dropped the propaganda poster and stepped on it in his quest across the store.

He made a slow circle around, eyeing and at times fingering all of the objects on the shelves. He could see the glaring giveaways that these were all cheap knockoff products the second he laid eyes on something, but he didn’t see any salesmen around to bestow his business savvy wisdom on. In fact, the only person he’d seen working here was the old man who led away Charlie, but then, they weren’t exactly teeming with business anyway.

Where _was_ Charlie? They’d been gone nearly twenty minutes already. Mac put down a deck of cards and looked around to find he had drifted nearer to the guy buried in a book by the front door. He blinked, startled to find himself so close, but the other guy didn’t notice. His hair curled over his ears when he hung his head like that, so busy reading—Mac skimmed the spine—oh, shit, flipping through _Life of Men_ , and Mac paused and stared. The guy had fine hands, he noticed. And dirt on his nose.

He looked up suddenly, and Mac’s blush spilled rapidly across his face. His hand jumped to the back of his neck.

“So is this, like, your hangout spot?” Mac blurted out.

The other’s eyes narrowed.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” he snapped.

Mac sneered.

“Whatever, dude.” He shrugged, defensive. “I was just asking.”

“And you missed some of that goon’s blood on your cheek,” said the guy.

The back of Mac’s hand jumped to his face.

“What?”

“You’re the guy, aren’t you?” The other’s gaze had returned to his book, but he studied Mac with vague disinterest now. “That little bitch who got his ass whooped at the deli?”

“I dominated that beefcake,” said Mac furiously. “Wait, how do you know about that?”

“That was me,” he said. “That was my table you got thrown over. You owe me lunch, by the way.”

“Oh.” Mac fell back a step, eyeing him over carefully. “Oh yeah, right. What’d your girlfriend call you? Dennis?”

Dennis scowled, his lip curling over his teeth. “That’s disgusting. Dee is my sister. And she’s a bitch.”

“Yeah, sure. No, I get that.” Mac assessed him again. He lingered on his hands. “Have you gotten to the one written by that clairvoyant couple in the 20s?”

Just for a second, Dennis froze. Then all the tension melted visibly out of his shoulders.

“Yeah,” he said, eyeing Mac curiously as he relaxed. “I liked them, those guys had shit figured out.”

Mac grinned. Dennis just looked at him until Mac shifted uncomfortably.

“What?” Mac asked.

“Nothing,” said Dennis. “I didn’t take you for a big reader.”

“That book has pictures too,” Mac argued. “Good ones, even though some of them are in black and white!”

Dennis snorted, breaking into a smile. Mac’s indignation simmered from heavy breathing into nothing, and then he started grinning too.

“I’m Mac,” he said.

Dennis watched him silently. Mac pushed his hands in his pockets, already half-full with stolen goods, and turned pink again waiting for him to say anything. Dennis flicked his eyes over Mac at leisure.

“Nice patch up job,” he drawled eventually, nodding toward Mac’s hands. “What happened to you?”

Mac split into a grin.

“Lightning,” he said, with relish. “Wanna see my scars?”

The door to the back slammed open, and Mac whirled around as Charlie came sauntering out with his arms full of—for some reason—chrome dish trays, like a nicer version of the plastic ones they gave out at Mac’s middle school. He caught Mac’s eye across the store, jerking his head toward the exit.

Mac ducked his head and followed Charlie out. He looked back just once, but Dennis had his nose buried in his book again.

Charlie shouldered his way out into the street, where after the dinginess of the store Mac was surprised to find that the sun was still shining in the early afternoon. They’d only been inside half an hour. He blinked, readjusting to the bright.

“What’s that?” he asked Charlie, bumping their elbows together. Charlie grimaced, struggling to keep hold of his jostled trays before any of them fell.

“I told you, the old creep is getting started on the black market.”

“But I thought _he_ was selling his own wares, Charlie. I thought you were just consulting! I don’t want to be hauling around illegal shit for some guy—”

“We’re not!” Charlie cried. “This is a one-time business venture to celebrate our partnership—”

“Partnership?!” Mac squeaked. “What in Sorcerers’ name are you making _partners_ for, Charlie? I don’t want to go in with some guy I don’t know.”

He grabbed one of the trays and spun it around in his hands, watching the sun glint off the chrome.

“You don’t have to,” Charlie snapped, snatching back his tray. Mac frowned indignantly at him. “ _I’m_ in a partnership. You’re not in shit!”

“But we’re already partners, Charlie!”

“No we’re not! I asked and you got all offended by it,” said Charlie. “You didn’t want to be—”

“So you asked somebody else?!”

They bickered all the way until they got home that evening, parting ways at the bus stop with a pat on the shoulder.

Two weeks later, Charlie asked him to help out with delivering something to the magick shop guy.

“No way,” said Mac. “You ditched me for him!”

“We went over this, we were never a team—”

“Well, I don’t trust the guy.”

Mac folded his arms. Charlie sighed.

“Alright, I’ll cut you in ten percent.”

“Twenty-five,” Mac said quickly.

“Five,” said Charlie.

“Thirty!”

“Twenty-six,” said Charlie, and Mac shook on it.

The store was no cleaner this time around, and the windows still had that layer of dirt and grime that made the whole place seem darker than it was outside, even with the lights on. Charlie snatched Mac’s backpack off his shoulder and slung it across his front since he was already wearing his own, and he waddled like that past the front desk and disappeared into the back room.

Mac began looking idly through the shop to see what was new. He examined a couple of leaves that looked suspiciously like poison ivy when he got distracted by movement in the corner—Mac froze, then smirked to himself.

He crossed the room quietly.

“Hey,” he declared, loud and right in Dennis’s ear. Dennis leaped back, his hand jumping to cover his heart; when he saw who it was, he smacked Mac on the shoulder. Mac grinned. “You’re here again.”

Dennis leaned against the shelf behind him, flipping a page in his book. He was still reading _Life of Men_ , although he had gotten much farther in now.

“Um, yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes. He swept curls off his forehead. “I work here.”

“Huh? You do?”

“ _Obviously_ ,” Dennis sneered. “My dad owns this place.”

Mac’s eyebrows had climbed his forehead now. “That guy’s your _dad_?”

“I mean—Not technically,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “But that’s—that’s neither here nor there. For all intents and purposes, yeah, that ugly asshole is my father.”

“Oh.” Mac thought this over. “So he’s getting into harder stuff, huh?”

Dennis snapped his book shut.

“I don’t give a shit about what he’s doing,” Dennis said, turning sharply to face him. He paused, looking Mac over. His tone softened almost imperceptibly. “I just come in to collect a paycheck. It’s not like I’m particularly involved.”

“Okay.” Mac shrugged one shoulder. “Fine. I was just asking.”

“Well, don’t.” He sniffed. “I don’t associate with criminals.”

“Newsflash, asshole,” said Mac. He rolled his eyes. “You _are_ a criminal.”

Dennis was stymied as he thought this over; then he shoved Mac’s shoulder. Mac laughed, catching his outshot wrist in one hand and grabbing his book from him with the other.

“Hey!” Dennis launched himself at Mac more forcefully, scrabbling at his arm. “Give me that, shithead!”

“You don’t need these gay ass stories,” said Mac.

Dennis arched an eyebrow, leaning off of him so he could cross his arms.

“Yeah? What, I don’t need them anymore ‘cause you gonna show me something better? Something real?” Dennis asked scathingly.

Mac just raised his eyebrows. He dangled the book above both their heads. Dennis’s glare redoubled, until he was suddenly overcome with flush.

“Shut up,” Dennis said, snatching his book back. Mac laughed.

“I can’t believe you’re still reading this,” said Mac, crossing his arms and leaning against a bookshelf.

“It’s a long book,” Dennis said defensively.

“Not really.”

“It’s, like, 300 pages!”

“But the pictures aren’t even half of that!”

“I’m not just looking at the pictures!” Dennis broke out suddenly in laughter. When Dennis pushed his shoulder, Mac fumbled to catch his wrist again but failed. “Some of us learned how to read, Mac.”

Despite the insult, Mac warmed, his retort sticking in his throat. Dennis remembered his name. A smile flickered on Mac’s face.

“Watch your mouth, you rich brat,” he said. He nodded at the book, shoving his hands down into his pockets. “So you don’t do anything else around here? Seems kinda nerdy to me.”

“It’s not nerdy,” said Dennis. “It’s a deep, serious look into daily life throughout history for—”

“Ha! You just like the drawings of gay sex,” Mac laughed, pointing at him. “You’re a horny little dick!”

“Excuse me. I’m more refined than some smutty pictures.” He tucked the book under his arm. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m actually reading several books right now, and they’re _classics_ . _And_ I work here. What do _you_ do?”

“I run dark magicka on the underground,” Mac said cheerfully. “You want to see me make a space ball?”

“Yes,” he said immediately. He clamored to stand in front of him.

Mac grinned; Dennis’s gaze was sharp on his hands, and Mac held up one finger and started to concentrate.

He was still only good at reflecting space on flat, small surfaces, like the heads of coins and sometimes (if he hadn’t done much magicka that day) the depths of a teaspoon. However, he was feeling pretty well-rested, and he felt good about it. Why should 3-dimensional glimpses of space be any harder than a void ball? And he made those all the time.

Mac cupped his hands together and started to focus.

Dennis’s eyes flickered to his face.

“Am I waiting for something?” he asked.

Mac frowned. “Yes! I’m making space, bro.”

Dennis fell silent. Mac went back to concentrating.

Dennis clucked his tongue. “Dude, if you’re trying to give birth to space or whatever, I think you need a C-section.”

“I don’t need a C-section,” Mac snapped. “Would you let me focus?”

“I did!” he said—it came out on a half-laugh. He gestured at Mac’s hands. “You’re giving me nothing! I mean, this is pathetic.”

“Shut up, bitch!” He sniffed. “Show _me_ something, then.”

Mac crossed his arms. Dennis raised his eyebrows.

“Alright.” He licked his lips, sizing up his shop. Mac watched eagerly as he alighted on a series of shelves nearby, all lined up in a row.

Mac grinned.

Leaning closer, he said, “Do it.” Dennis pulled one hand back. He looked at Mac; Mac nodded. Quieter, more serious: “Do it.”

Dennis pushed his palm forward, his fingers splayed. As though buffeted by invisible shockwaves, all three shelves dropped into each other just like dominos. Mac whooped, pumping his fist in the air. Dennis turned to him with a huge grin.

“Boom!” he shouted, snapping his fingers. “Suck on that sweet piece of destruction, baby. What can you do? Brag a whole bunch and never deliver?”

“I do more than that!” said Mac. Adrenaline rushed through him, and before he knew what he was saying, he shouted, “Watch this!”

Swirling his hand in the air, he aimed a void ball across the room at the cash register—where it missed, ricocheted off the mirror above the counter, smashed through what seemed to be a small vanity mirror with transparent glass, and swallowed up a stray hacky sack before rapidly shrinking to nothing.

“Oh, _shit_!” Dennis jumped in excitement; for balance, his hands landed on top of each other on Mac’s shoulder. Mac paused to look down at them, swallowing hard—but his eyes were back on Dennis’s face by the time Dennis turned his megawatt smile on him. “That was badass, Mac! Do another one.”

Preening, Mac quickly conjured up more void to lob around the shop: swallowing up a stapler, three ancient texts on picking herbs, and one glove from a pair. Dennis never failed to cheer for every disappeared piece of stock.

“Hey! Hey, what the hells are you doing to my store?”

The door to the back swung open, and the old, gross man who owned the joint hurried through, with Charlie ducking through after him.

“Oh, shit.” Dennis tugged fiercely on Mac’s sleeve, edging in front of him until Dennis was half-standing between him and his father. Louder, he said, “We were minding our own _business_ , that’s what, bitch.”

“Don’t talk to me that way, Dennis. Don’t talk to me,” said the old man, wagging his finger. “I’m your boss! You’re my employee!”

“Bite me, Frank.”

Charlie touched Frank’s arm. “My man. Can we finish our exchange?”

They scuttled to the front door to end their business in hushed voices. Dennis touched Mac’s elbow, drawing his attention back.

“Do you always come when your friend does?” Dennis asked. He shrugged one shoulder, half a smile on his face. “I might be around next week too.”

Mac split into a grin. He could try and clear his schedule.

The books on the shelf he was crouched behind were beginning to dig painfully into his back.

“Why do we have to hide back here, man?” Mac whined, not for the first time. Not even for the first time in the last five minutes.

“Because we’re playing a joke on Sweet Dee,” said Dennis, waving down his complaints. “Now _hush_.”

“But she’s still not back from practice yet and we’ve been waiting for _hours_.”

“First of all, it’s only been about fifteen minutes,” said Dennis. “And second, I cannot control the speed at which my sister accepts her disastrous failure, so we’ll just have to keep on waiting.”

Mac slumped over, blowing out a frustrated breath.

“She already has magick,” he said. Beside him, Dennis bristled. “What’s she taking night classes for?”

“Because she’s shitty at it and she thinks she can become one of those traveling performers,” said Dennis, rolling his eyes. “As if anyone gives a shit about watching a potioneer. It’s pathetic.”

“Well, can we at least play cards or something? Since we’re stuck sitting here?”

Dennis sighed. “Fine.” He gestured vaguely. “Go grab the pack on that shelf—Not the one with the stars on it, the violet one, right underneath it—”

He brought it down and folded himself on the floor; Dennis grabbed the pack, shaking it out of the box, but Mac snatched the cards from him before he could get a better grip.

“Hey,” said Dennis, but he was grinning.

“I’m dealing,” said Mac. “I’m dealing. What are we playing?”

Dennis leaned back on one hand. He threw his head back when he laughed, exposing the long line of his throat. Mac swallowed.

“Have you ever played Minus One?” Dennis asked.

Busy examining the deck, Mac said, “Uh, no. Dennis, did you mean to get the disappearing deck?”

“Yes,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “That’s the whole point of it. Okay, here goes.”

By the fifth hand, Mac was finally beginning to get it. He slapped down a King and shouted, “Boom!” tossing his hands in the air. Dennis rolled his eyes and threw his remaining cards to the floor.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, crossing his arms. “Enjoy it, Mac. I was just _letting_ you win—to help you learn—”

“Bullshit! That’s bullshit, I did so much more better than you,” Mac said. “You’re just mad ‘cause I’m already kicking your ass at your own game—”

“Fuck you.”

Dennis shoved at Mac’s arm, breaking out into laughter when Mac flexed to show off what Dennis was messing with. Baring his teeth, Mac lunged to secure his wrists, and the pair of them fell, still wrestling, onto the ground. The cards were flickering out and reappearing in the pack on the shelf one by one as they rolled over the leftovers of their game—as Mac’s foot slipped on a 7 of Clubs, and when Dennis used the momentum to flip him on his back and slip his knee across Mac’s waist, to sit on his stomach and pin him to the floor.

Dennis leaned his face in close, and Mac’s breath caught despite himself. They eyed each other, lying there on the floor.

“Don’t call bullshit on me ever again,” said Dennis.

Contrarily, he squeezed Mac’s wrists tighter. Mac shifted beneath him. He could feel the urge to squirm seizing his every limb, one by one, try as he might to suppress it.

Before he could do anything, move and betray himself—and before Dennis could let go—footsteps squeaked to their side. Mac and Dennis both looked up.

“So,” Dee drawled, her hands on her hips. “What are you dickbags doing down there?”

They looked at each other.

“Get off me,” Mac said, pushing Dennis to the ground. He scrambled up, swiping at his jeans. “Nothing. Waiting for you—” Dennis had shakily gotten to his feet too, cursing all the while, but now he stopped to elbow Mac hard in the ribs. “—Nothing.”

“You were waiting for me?” Dee asked, eyebrows climbing.

“No, we were—We were just gonna,” Dennis sighed. “We were going to play a trick on you, alright?”

“We thought…” said Mac. “We were going to hit you with some concentrated void, a little bit…”

“You were gonna do _what_ ?” Dee gawked. “Some _void_?”

“A little bit,” Mac stressed.

“We—We technically still could,” said Dennis. “I mean, it’s not like she can stop you or anything.”

“Oh. You’re right! Thanks, Den.”

“Don’t you dare,” said Dee, holding up her hands. When Mac just grinned, wiggling his fingers at her, she started backing away. “Mac, I said _don’t_. Don’t you fucking dare!”

“Five,” Dennis began. “Four.”

Mac joined in, “Three! Two! One—”

“Stop!” Dee shrieked, and she fled into the back room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Mac dropped his threatening hand, his arm swinging limply at his side as he turned back to Dennis.

“Aw,” said Mac. “I was really looking forward to seeing if I could get the void that big.”

“Probably not.”

“Why not?” Mac demanded. “I’m powerful!”

Dennis wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, but Dee’s giant bird body is so big, there’s no way you could stretch even your hugest of huge void balls to swallow her whole.”

Mac laughed. “Yeah, you’re right. I’d probably swallow the entire universe and the void would still be trying to choke her all down—”

“Oh, yeah! It would be like, choking and chomping on her—”

“Just trying to chew her down into littler and littler bits, but it never can—”

“Oh, it could go at her for hours and it still wouldn’t be done.”

“Stupid bird,” said Mac, still laughing, shaking his head. “What a stupid idiot. Well, maybe you can use some dark magick on her while she’s sleeping or something. So she knows she didn’t get off scot free.”

“Yeah,” said Dennis. His smile had faded. “Hey, shame we never figured out who was better at Minus One, though.”

His hand swung out, touching Mac’s forearm for a precious couple of seconds. Mac cocked his head.

“Yes we did,” he said. “Remember? I won best of five, right before Dee—”

“And,” Dennis said over him, “I would totally love to figure that out, but I’m getting kind of hungry.”

“Oh. Right,” said Mac, kicking at the grimy floor. “Nah, I get that. It’s getting into the afternoon—”

“Yep!” Dennis nodded.

“So I can just—” Mac jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

“What?” Dennis’s eyebrows sloped together. “Oh. I mean, okay. It’s a shame, though, because I don’t—actually have any money on me.”

“Oh.”

“So I guess I...won’t eat then,” he said. “Heh.”

“Oh,” said Mac, brow furrowing. He rubbed at the back of his neck. “No, man, you shouldn’t—Go hungry. Um. Do you want to come get tacos with me? I was gonna...go get tacos. I can get you some too, if you want. If you like them. Do you—like tacos?”

“I—Yeah! Yeah, I do,” said Dennis. He gave a small chuckle. “Tacos sound great.”

“Cool.”

Mac bit his lip, staring at the ground. For a long moment, Dennis didn’t move either.

“So do you want to go now, or—?” Dennis said, jerking his thumb at the door.

“Yes.” Mac nodded vigorously. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Um, after you.”

Dennis was glowing as he marched ahead, Mac’s hand on his lower back to guide him out from between the shelves. When they reached the sidewalk, Dennis shivered and curled closer. He grabbed Mac’s arm, pulling him up so they could walk side by side, and then crossed his arms over his chest, still slouching near to Mac’s body heat.

“You cold?” Mac asked. “It’s only a couple of blocks.”

“I just didn’t realize it was so goddamn cloudy out,” he said. When he shook his head, loose curls flopped over his forehead. “What happened to the sun?”

“It’s November, what did you expect?”

“I don’t know!” said Dennis. “A goddamn break for once, maybe.”

Mac snorted. “What are you, twelve? Come on, Mr. Optimist.”

Snaking an arm around his shoulders, Mac pulled him along a few feet before letting him go. Dennis shot him a look but didn’t say anything, tripping dutifully after him.

They found a table by the front window, where Mac knew they would be able to see the most action if anything happened out on the street. Dennis seemed skeptical, but he sat down across the small table when Mac patted the seat.

“Don’t we have to order?” said Dennis, glancing at the counter.

“I said it was on me,” Mac said with a little shrug. “Be right back.”

Dennis was giving him an odd look, his lips parted as he watched Mac smile and walk off.

He came back with a tray and two margaritas; reeling off all the meats he’d gotten inside, Mac slid back into his seat.

“This is really good,” Dennis said, munching into one stuffed with crab. “And these margaritas are so delicious.”

“Really? You like it?” he asked eagerly.

“Dude, I swear. How did you find out about this place?”

It was fair; the joint was wedged down an alley between a Fedex dropoff point and a place that sold novelty Philly merchandise. Mac drank a little to clear his throat.

“Was dumpster diving with Charlie one day and he found some leftovers. He said we _had_ to trace it back to the source.”

“Oh.” Dennis reared back, scrunching his nose. “Oh, that’s…really disgusting, actually. But I can’t even say he’s wrong, though, is the thing! This is so goddamn tasty—”

“I know,” Mac gloated. “Totally badass find, right?”

“Sure,” Dennis laughed. “I want the last nacho.”

Before Mac could even begin to jolt across the table, Dennis had snatched it clean from the bowl and was munching with an extremely smug look on his face. Mac kicked his ankles beneath the table.

“You dick,” he accused. “You’re a little piece of shit!”

He slapped wildly at Dennis, who ducked him with a shout and swatted his hands out of the air like a cat might swipe at a toy.

“I deserve it!” Dennis yelled. “I deserve whatever I _want_ after you tried to convince me I’d gone blind last week—”

“That was funny, Dennis,” said Mac. “Two little disks of black smoke in front of your eyes and you thought—You _thought_ —”

Mac was laughing too hard to get the rest out. Dennis snorted, kicking at his swinging feet.

“And _I’m_ the asshole,” Dennis said, shaking his head. “We’ve been hanging out for what? Six weeks? And this is the first time you bothered buying me tacos after you talk my ear off through every single one of my lunch breaks, fucking making me starve—”

“And of _course_ ,” said Mac, “you’re the type of date who just _has_ to order the most expensive thing on the menu when he knows he’s not paying! You heard me say I’d put down my credit card, and all of a sudden he orders three out of five tacos with _lobster_ in it—”

“You don’t have a credit card,” said Dennis. “You don’t have any _credit_. You get most of your shit because Charlie lights a small fire nearby and you shove anything you can into your backpack—Wait.”

Mac frowned, glancing at him; he was very preoccupied gathering the shredded cheese that had fallen out of his taco.

“What?”

“What did you say?” said Dennis, and now a sly grin was breaking across his face. “Just now, just then. I’m a type of _what_?”

Mac reddened. He smiled shyly as he glanced away.

“Nothing,” he said. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Go on, Mac,” Dennis goaded. A huge grin spread across his face. He kicked Mac under the table. “Tell me.”

“Shut up, you ugly fuck!” Mac slugged him in the arm hard enough that Dennis recoiled with a wounded shout. “Eat your free tacos.”

Still rubbing his arm and mouthing _“Ow!”_ like a drama queen, Dennis nevertheless settled after a little bit more margarita. He ate all of his tacos and then half of Mac’s last one, too.

“You’re greedy, dude,” said Mac as he got up to dump their trays. “You know that’s cited as one of the most major heretical things you can do?”

“Oh.” Dennis rolled his eyes dramatically as he led the way back out into the cold November sun. “So you practice dark magicka every single day, but you’re a bootlicker for the Civic Council too? What, not enough money in the illegal trade—You just had to go and moonlight as a square?”

“Shut up, Dennis,” Mac drawled, elbowing him hard enough to nearly send him into the street. Dennis curled arms around one of Mac’s, stumbling to stay molded to his side. “I can believe in the Citizens’ Rulebook and still run my trade route.”

“How?” Dennis asked, blunt. “Isn’t it in Section, like, _One_ that you’re not supposed to use dark magicka? Isn’t that the very first line?”

“It’s not the _first_ line,” Mac said.

“But it’s near the front.”

“So? I do a lot of the other stuff in the Rulebook,” Mac insisted. “I don’t use environmental magick after quiet hours. I almost _never_ poison the river. I’ve never been a CEO. And last week, when this dumb old lady fell in a puddle, I only laughed for like five minutes tops. I didn’t even try and hold her head under, man, I swear. Not with magicka or with anything.”

“Okay, Mac,” he said, though he sounded sarcastic. Mac frowned; super unnecessary, he’d been making good points.

“Do you wanna come to Charlie’s with me and watch him set anthills on fire?” he asked.

Dennis shrugged. “Yeah, I do.”

Dennis tossed a piece of popcorn into Mac’s mouth—from across the room, too, it was fairly impressive. Mac tossed him back the hacky sack.

“I’m bored,” Dennis complained, knocking together his feet. “Don’t you have anything better to do in this shithole than wait for Charlie to get here?”

“He’s got the moonshine,” said Mac. “We can’t play drinking games until he brings it over.”

“We don’t need _drinking games_ to have fun.” Dennis shook his head. “Use your head, Mac. We’re young, fun guys. I’m sure we can come up with something to do on our own.”

“Well then come up with something!” he said, kicking at the floor. “I’m bored as shit, bro.”

“I’m getting hungry,” said Dennis, rubbing his stomach. Mac gestured at the popcorn he was still holding, but he shook his head, waving a hand at him. “No, for something other than popcorn. Like, something real.”

“We could order something?”

“I’m in the mood for wings.”

“That place doesn’t deliver this late.”

“We could go out?” said Dennis. He and Mac shared a look—head tilted, eyebrows raised. At length, Mac shrugged, and pushed himself up off the floor.

“I’ll grab my jacket.”

“Get me one too!”

It was chillier outside than he’d been anticipating. Even with the down jackets from Mac’s close, feeling very snug inside, all of Mac’s exposed extremities were shaky and pink with cold. Dennis didn’t seem to be faring much better, if the tip of his nose was any indication. Not that Mac could see it much, what with how he had his borrowed coat zipped all the way up and he kept his nose buried inside. Even Mac thought he was being a little bit over the top.

The wings place was surprisingly busy. They had to turf a pair of eleven-year-olds out of a corner booth but they settled in there, a smug look glowing on Dennis’s face. He draped the jacket over the back and pulled a menu closer.

“You’re not gonna get the same thing you always do?”

Mac was only half-teasing. Dennis really was pretty predictable, if you knew what to look for. Mac was beginning to recognize the signs.

“Nah. Maybe this garlic parmesan one, that looks pretty good.”

“That’s straight up stoner food, dude.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Dennis perused the menu again. “Yeah, maybe I will get the medium-hot with ranch.”

He said this like it was a revelation. Mac rolled his eyes.

Mac splurged on extra sauce, which Dennis wound up stealing half of anyway. “It’s good,” he said, his nose in the air, when Mac cut him a look.

There was a moment when Dennis looked away, focusing on his next bite; his hands were disgusting, coated in grease and bits of bread that had flaked off his food and got stuck. With a content smile, Dennis closed his eyes and sucked one of his fingers clean. A warm, happy noise slipped out.

A feeling pretty similar to that sound settled right in the center of Mac’s chest. He watched Dennis search seriously for the perfect next wing to eat—in the same second that he picked it out, he also looked up and caught Mac watching him.

“What?” he said, turning an enchanting shade of pink.

Mac grinned.

“You’ve got sauce all over your face, you jackass,” he said. He pushed a handful of napkins across the table, and right afterwards pushed his special extra-dollar dip over too.

With a smirk that was really more stupid than charming, Dennis snatched up the plastic container and dumped a liberal amount all over the rest of his wings.

“You finished already?” Dennis asked the next time he looked up; indeed, Mac had pushed his empty container and small mountain of dirty napkins into the middle of the table. “Shit, you’re barbaric.”

“Just because _you_ eat at the speed of my eighty year old grandma—”

“Your grandmother’s dead and she wrote you out of her will,” Dennis snapped.

Mac’s jaw clicked shut. He leaned back, arms crossed over his chest.

“Just finish your fucking dinner, asshole,” he said. He looked away; the gloomy sky outside caught his eye, and leaned in closer to the glass to peer upwards at it. “Christ, is it just me or does it look like it’s gonna snow soon?”

Dennis looked worriedly out the window with him; then, in silence, he went back to eating with renewed vigor.

They left their trash on the table in a haste to get back to the safe indoors of Mac’s apartment; alas, it started flurrying before they got halfway down the block. Zipped back all the way up in his coat, Dennis latched onto Mac’s arm with fingers like claws.

“It’s gonna get too slippery to walk before we even make it home,” he complained, voice low in Mac’s ear. He tugged his arm. “Come on, let’s try to wait it out.”

Mac didn’t see where he was getting pulled, but Dennis sure seemed to have a destination in mind; in under a minute, he shoved Mac ahead through a door, where they were enveloped in blissfully warm air. Mac flipped off his hood as the door swung closed behind them and shut out the snow.

They were standing in the middle of a movie theater, small and out of the way. Mac must have passed it every day, but he’d barely ever noticed it, and he’d certainly never gone in.

Dennis had already abandoned him to look around in wonder by the entrance and strode up to the ticket seller.

“Two for that horror movie at eight.”

Mac frowned.

As they were walking away, he said, “You're seriously not even gonna try and sneak in?”

Dennis rolled his eyes.

“You don’t think we’re just staying for the one movie, do you?”

They found seats nestled in the middle of the theatre, right in the best row: dead center, a few back from the front. Mac sighed as he plopped down in a seat.

“I wish we’d snuck in candy or something, man.”

Dennis patted his arm and told him to shush. They sunk into their seats together as the lights went down, Mac slumping and knees spreading as he looked up at the opening credits.

Dennis’s finger, out of nowhere, hooked into his mouth. Mac choked to spit it out.

“The fuck?”

Dennis was grinning. “Keep your mouth closed, asshole. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that’s how they catch flies?”

Mac elbowed him. “You dick! Don’t put your fingers in me, hells know where they’ve been!”

Dennis rolled his eyes. “Drama queen, I’ve been with you all night.”

“And that’s how I _know_ they’re nasty,” Mac said. “I watched you lick sauce of your fingers, like, an hour ago, man—”

Dennis grinned.

“Not afraid of a little spit now, Mac, are you?” He elbowed Mac in the ribs. “Tough guy like you?”

Mac snagged his wrist. He didn’t let go, even when Dennis stopped trying to wriggle away and submitted to his fate trapped under Mac’s hand, and he let Mac pull his wrist over the armrest to keep it close. To make sure he didn’t go on to cause any more trouble, that’s all.

The flick wasn’t that good; the horror was all gore and jump scares, and the actors might as well have been reading off a teleprompter—all facts that Dennis had no problem harping on as they slipped quietly out of the theater and into the one next door, where an action movie was still in the dawning ten minutes. He even had the decency to pretend that Mac didn’t hide his face in Dennis’s neck during all of the scary parts.

“I’m just saying,” Mac hissed as they settled into the back row. “It’s not a lot to ask for them to let you know that they’re gonna slaughter a whole bunch of preachers before the first ten minutes are out!”

“I thought trigger warnings were for pussies,” Dennis said mildly—echoing something he’d heard from Mac at least ten times before, because it was true.

“Well, of course they are,” Mac spat. “But a little PSA that they’re gonna go on a gigantic anti-Council rampage and slaughter a group of hardworking missionaries trying to enlighten those villagers to the greater good? Where’s the harm in that, bro.”

A few rows ahead of them, someone loudly shushed them down. Mac yelled, “Ey, mind your fucking business,” and Dennis snickered as he curled his hand through Mac’s elbow and slouched close, cheek nearly falling on his shoulder. Mac blinked down at him in surprise and fell silent. Dennis shifted, getting more comfortable—his temple first lightly touched Mac’s shoulder, then settled against him more boldly. Mac breathed out a long sigh and slouched down, and laid his cheek in the nest of curls on top of Dennis’s head. He could’ve sworn Dennis’s grip tightened on his arm, and Mac felt so warm, electric but paralyzed all over.

They slipped in and out of another movie after that before some stupid, pimply-looking teenager caught them trying to sneak into a screening of an R-rated flick about killer porn star robots. Mac tried to step to him but right as the kid started looking scared, steam began wafting off the top of his head in opaque glory. Dennis freaked, insisting that they go before he shot them with hot steam or called his supervisor or something.

“That’s bullshit,” Mac said, punching at the air as they pushed back into the freezing night. “I could have taken him! You should have let me take him.”

Dennis tried to grip his shoulder, but Mac jerked his arm out of his hold.

“No!”

Dennis rolled his eyes.

“Oh, take a fucking calming draft or something, Mac.”

Mac kicked at nothing again, but the snow hadn’t abated much in their absence despite Dennis’s hopes; it had stopped falling, but the sidewalks were frozen over and slicked with ice, now. Mac slipped, feet coming out from under him and he gave a terrified shout. His arms flailed out for a handhold that did not come—but before he could windmill for any more than a few seconds, Dennis’s arms slipped underneath his own. He hauled him upright, breathless.

“Unholy Leaders, dude. Calm down.”

He set Mac down, patting sporadically at his coat like he had snow on it. Pouting, Mac brushed him off.

“Don’t cuss at me,” Mac muttered. He frowned. “I really wanted to see those porno robots beat the shit out of each other.”

Dennis didn’t move for a moment; sighing, Mac yanked him closer by the arm. Dennis linked their elbows together, falling into easy step beside him. With his free hand, he mussed at Mac’s hair.

“I know,” he said, voice absolutely overladen with sympathy. “I know, buddy.”

It was very late as they trekked back home through the dark city, quiet but for the never ending, discordant melody of passing cars and horns honking, of people shouting from distant windows, of those city noises that never really softened; and their low voices passed back and forth beneath all of that, anyway, like their heads tilted together were a heavy blanket between them and the rest of the world. Mac didn’t realize that they hadn’t picked anywhere in particular to go until he looked up and realized he was in an unfamiliar part of town—he’d been for product runs and the odd theft, of course, and a couple nights just for pleasure and leisure when his and Charlie’s pockets came out the end of the week more lined than usual, but he never lingered, and he’d never belonged.

Dennis slowed them to a stop outside a white building so tall that it brushed the clouds and twinkling stars in the dark sky. Mac looked up the whole long distance, lips parting.

“Well,” said Dennis. “This is me.”

“Woah,” he said. “You live _here_?”

Chuckling, Dennis extricated his arm from Mac’s.

“Well, not the whole building, of course,” he said, shaking his head. He pressed his lips together, studying Mac’s face from a foot or so away.

Mac rolled his eyes. “Uh, _duh_. I’m not stupid.”

“Just the top floor,” said Dennis. Mac turned to stare, bug-eyed. Dennis glanced back from the towering building and did a double-take. “What?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed through his teeth. “Sorcerers Above. I thought you just owned that magick shop, but you’re like— _rich_ rich. Like skyscraper rich.”

“Yeah, well.” Dennis sighed. “Frank used to own half of Center City before he screwed every suit down there and came out a goddamn millionaire. Dude’s loaded.”

Mac hit him in the arm.

“Fucking—What the fuck, Mac?!” he yelped. 

“You’ve got top floor of a skyscraper money but you can’t pay for your own fucking wings?” Mac demanded.

Incredibly, Dennis tossed his head back and laughed.

“It’s not _my_ money,” he explained. “The old bastard gave me a room in the corner of the top floor, that’s it. But the only money I have is what I make at the store.”

Mac scoffed.

“Sure.” He put on a high, mocking voice: “It’s not _my_ money! It’s _daddy’s_ money! I’m not rich, my parents are.”

Dennis narrowed his eyes, stepping closer.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” A tiny smile graced his lips. “Just ‘cause all the assholes say it, doesn’t mean it’s not true, sometimes.”

Mac’s hand landed on his upper arm.

“Guess even a broken asshole is right twice a day.”

Dennis wrinkled his nose. “Don’t talk about messed up assholes right before I kiss you, man.”

Mac paled.

“What?” he asked.

Dennis curled his hand around the back of Mac’s neck, stepped closer, and leaned up to press his mouth to Mac’s. Mac sucked in a sharp breath—Dennis laughed, quiet and small against his lips. His fingers raked through Mac’s hair and he dipped his head the other way to kiss him again, better, closer. Right.

Mac closed his eyes and touched his waist, leaning into him. He was just winding his arms around his back when Dennis leaned away. Mac’s eyes took a long moment to open, to find Dennis’s already there—half-lidded, sure, but watching him steadily. Dennis’s fingers stroked clumsily over his jaw.

“I,” Mac tried, and stopped. He swallowed; Dennis’s hands were so _distracting_. He couldn’t think. “I didn’t know you—”

“Come on. You’re not fucking braindead.” Dennis kissed him again, then again. Mac felt like his expression was frozen on his face. If Dennis would stop _looking_ at him like that, if he could have some time to think, to process—maybe he’d figure out a sexier expression than wide eyes and a smeared open mouth. He should seduce Dennis, right? But Dennis traced a finger over Mac’s bottom lip and breathed, “I had...so much fun tonight...”

Dennis was smirking. Mac’s gaze flicked over his face for a long moment before he clutched him tighter by the waist and pulled him in on a breath to kiss again, harder. He could feel Dennis still smiling as he spread his hands across Mac’s back.

Dennis was breathing harder than usual, right against his face, but he found it very hard to care.

“Been thinking about this for weeks,” Dennis said, low, still stroking his hair.

“Really?”

“Mhm. What, haven’t you?”

“No.” He ran his hands up Dennis’s sides, giddy at the affronted slope of his brow. “It was when I first noticed you, the day I walked into the shop.”

Dennis leaned back, eyebrows raising. “What, seriously? The first day?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged one shoulder, hands fastened around Dennis’s hips. “I mean, sure, I thought you were a fucking asshole, but—you know, sometimes hate sex is even more better than the regular kind.”

Dennis laughed, shoving his shoulder.

“Shut up!” He folded his arms around Mac’s neck again, face close and grin softening. His finger traced Mac’s neck, right along underneath his hairline. “ _If_ I let you do anything to me, it’s gonna be the most incredible and memorable night of your life.”

Mac should tease him about that.

“I know,” he said instead, and Dennis’s gaze darkened. Mac’s stomach twisted, so hard it hurt. He leaned in again, magnetized, wanting to be closer.

“Wanna come upstairs?” Dennis asked.

Mac pressed his lips together. He nodded mutely.

Dennis untangled them—Mac made a little sound of protest, but not much, and he was pretty proud of all the self-control it took—and threaded their fingers together. Throwing a smile over his shoulder, he pulled Mac into an elevator and pressed the top floor. He tugged on his hand, trying for attention, he supposed; but Mac couldn’t help looking around. The lobby was immaculate, huge and white and clean. Even the elevator screamed of old money: shiny, fast, way too many fucking buttons. Mac only resisted making them all light up because of Dennis’s hand holding him fast—and because after about two floors, Dennis took his face in his hands and kissed him.

He stared around, still avid, drinking in as much of the gigantic forty-fifth floor as he could while Dennis pulled him relentlessly down the halls without giving him a chance to take any of it in. He wasn’t used to luxury, and he didn’t have any particular hunger for it, but the allure was still tantalizing when he was dropped right in the middle of it. One month’s rent here must cost more than he’d paid out to landlords in his entire life.

There seemed to be less rooms, less doors than Mac was used to apartment buildings having; when Frank bought out the top floor, had he knocked down walls to make his penthouse bigger? But Dennis kept guiding Mac too fast, away from all of his questions, until they got to the end of a hall and Mac gathered Dennis in his arms right in front of the door nestled down there.

After a minute, Dennis pulled back, fingers still clawlike in the front of Mac’s shirt, laughing breathlessly against his mouth.

“Let’s go inside,” he said, eyes bright. He smoothed the wrinkles from Mac’s shirt, sending more tendrils of fiery desire through the places he touched, raising goosebumps.

Bare hands the only cold part of him, Mac needed a minute before he could release his death grip on the folds of Dennis’s jacket.

“Sorry,” Mac said. “I just—didn’t realize how bad I wanted it.”

Dennis laughed, rummaging for his keys. As he came up with them, he threw a glance over his shoulder and said, “You don’t even know how bad you want it yet. Trust me.”

Mac gave the back of his head a heated look, not that Dennis was paying attention. He unlocked his door and shouldered inside.

Mac couldn’t stop staring around when Dennis flicked on the lights. The place was incredible—high ceiling, canopy bed with posters that rose up nearly to the top, a wall of huge windows overlooking the city. Mac trailed slowly after him, further inside.

“Something to drink?” Dennis offered.

Mac’s eyes snapped back to him. He nodded.

“Yeah, what’ve you got?”

Dennis’s liquor collection was expansive nearly to the point of absurdity, not that Mac was particularly surprised, or upset—except for the prickle of annoyance that always flickered when he was around shiny things, along with the strong urge to steal as much as he could shove in his pockets. Nothing major.

Dennis poured them glasses of bourbon.

“Do you take anything in yours?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. “Chamomile flower? Any roots?”

“I’m not some pussy potion-taker, Dennis,” he said, giving him a look. “That’s unnatural.”

Dennis made a face—just for a second, then it was gone. But he poured his plain too.

They took them on the couch, Dennis tucking one of his legs beneath himself, Mac spreading out beside him. A remote on the coffee table turned on a stereo somewhere; the music sounded like it came from the ceiling, he couldn’t figure out the source. The faint sounds of some foreign soft rock settled around them on all sides, and Dennis tossed the remote down and regarded Mac seriously.

“What’s the wildest thing you’ve ever done?” he asked.

“Snuck me and Charlie into the Civic Council office once,” he said. “Well, I guess Charlie gets the credit for getting us out.”

He looked faintly surprised; good. Mac grinned, resettling in his seat, feeling bolder.

“What were you doing in there?”

“We were trying to replace some of the votes on DBA.”

Dennis arched an eyebrow; he looked almost impressed.

“You give a shit about animal rights?”

Mac hid his expression behind another sip of bourbon, bashful.

“No,” he admitted. “Charlie does. I just wanted to rig the ballot on gay marriage.”

“You get caught?” he asked, intrigued.

“Yes.” Mac flushed. “Charlie set some stuff on fire, created enough of a distraction to get us out. But we would’ve been caught anyway. I, uh, I left my number on the hot Councilman’s desk.”

Dennis burst out in laughter. He looked so cute, pink in his cheeks as he doubled over, that Mac didn’t feel so stupid about the whole thing. Dennis could always use a little color. His drink nearly sloshed over the side of his glass, but he brought it back to his lips without casualty and just looked over at Mac.

“You can’t possibly have thought that was gonna be a good idea,” said Dennis.

“It’s not my fault!” Mac laughed. “He wore that dark blue button-up on TV earlier that day. You know how he looks in that.”

“True.”

Mac huffed, thumbing the rim of his glass.

“Well anyway, we got out okay. Charlie accidentally set the slip of paper with my number on it on fire when we were making our escape. No luck getting laid there.”

Dennis tipped his glass in sympathy.

“A tragic loss,” he said, “because I definitely see that working out otherwise. You know, without all the breaking and entering and...arson.”

“What about you?” said Mac, brow creasing. “What’s the craziest shit magick ever got you into?” 

Dennis didn’t answer. He just watched him for a long moment. Mac hesitated, eyes catching with bourbon halfway down his throat—Dennis leaned forward and set his glass down on the coffee table. His gaze never wavered, stuck firmly and steadily on Mac’s, as he stepped closer. Mac didn’t resist as Dennis plucked his drink from his hand and set it down behind them with the other glass. Mac’s lips parted as he looked up at Dennis looming over him, who took Mac’s face in his hands, bent down, and kissed him.

It wasn’t any kind of secret what they were there for, but the press of Dennis’s mouth still tipped like fire down into his belly, even more than the liquor had. It was surprising how bright it burned. Mac slid his hands up Dennis’s back, gripping onto his sweater to pull him closer. Holding Mac’s shoulders, Dennis steadied himself and spread his knees enough to get his ankles on either side of Mac’s. Mac slipped his hands down to either side of Dennis’s waist, curled his fists into the bottom of his shirt, and tugged. Dennis slipped into his lap with ease like he’d done it a hundred times—maybe he had, with some other people.

Mac didn’t give a shit about other people. Because right now, Dennis wasn’t curling his tongue into somebody else’s mouth. He wasn’t knotting his hands into anyone’s hair but Mac’s, or letting some other guy run their hand up the side of his thigh, crawling toward his ass. Dennis groaned softly into his mouth, hips shifting, inching closer to his body. Mac tipped his head to the side, recaptured his lips, cupped his cheek to keep him steady and grabbed his ass with the other. Dennis pushed closer with an incredible sound.

Yeah, Dennis definitely wasn’t kissing down the neck of someone else, grasping the sides of his face, or dragging his mouth up to his ear where his breath came hot and a little fast.

“Wanna come see how nice my bed is?”

Mac’s hands squeezed his ass on jumpy, excited impulse. He nodded sharply.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Yep.”

Dennis was grinning again. “Okay.”

He climbed off Mac’s lap. Not waiting at all, he spun around and flung himself down on the bed. Mac took a couple of extra seconds to get up after him, brain kickstarting into gear on delay with how much sensory overload he was currently experiencing; as he got close, Dennis let his legs lounge open further, a slick grin on his face. When Mac climbed down on top of him with a grunt, Dennis guided him back down with his hand anchored back on his neck.

They rolled over, settling into the pillows. Dennis shifted closer, slipping his hands up Mac’s chest and bending to nibble on his ear, but Mac’s palms were smoothing out the sheets beneath them.

“Holy shit, man,” he said. “These sheets are like, made from one of the High Sorcerers’ nut.”

Dennis snickered. Still marveling, Mac touched his hip, and Dennis squeezed his bicep.

“High thread count,” he said. “Which one of the High Sorcerers?”

“I dunno,” said Mac. Dennis touched his chin and pulled him into another kiss. “Not the scribe, he’s a pussy.”

“Maybe the Bestower? She‘s allowed to experiment with dark magicka, maybe she invented silk, too.” He sounded like he was teasing, Mac couldn’t imagine why.

“Sure,” said Mac. “Take off your shirt, asshole.”

He stripped it off, and they kicked off their shoes and socks for good measure too. Before Mac could get further, Dennis yanked him in by the edge of one cut-off sleeve and pressed him down into the bed, one hand planted firmly next to his head.

Mac trailed his fingers up the back of his thigh. Dennis’s tongue probed further into his mouth and he wasn’t sure it was on purpose; his legs spread at the same time, so growing bolder, Mac gripped him where the back of his thigh met his ass. Taking the encouragement, Dennis crawled into his lap. Mac touched the other leg in the same place and Dennis arched back into it, grinded back, really, when Mac squeezed.

For a little while, Mac was sure that the books all had it wrong. Even the Rulebook. What, after all, could bring greater pleasure than this? Everyone swore the only way to feel that way was devotion, but Mac wasn’t sure: Rolling around with Dennis on expensive red silk sheets, his feet kicking the intricate golden cover further down to the floor every time Mac made him gasp, making Dennis’s toes curl with stray hands and a tongue in his mouth, had to be the best sensation out there. He’d never felt anything that even came close, as good as it was being devout.

Cradling his curls, Mac rolled Dennis over onto his back. Dennis’s legs tangled with his, his heel dragging up the back of Mac’s leg.

“What the hell,” he said. His fingers slipped on Mac’s zipper. “Can you take off these ugly fucking pants, Mac, fuck. I’m trying to feel some skin here.”

“Alright, alright. Relax,” he muttered.

He got on his knees and made quick work of unbuttoning and pulling them down. Dennis propped up on his elbows to watch.

“Well, I didn’t take you up here to jerk off on your Dickies.”

Mac rolled his eyes and yanked his pants the rest of the way off. Chuckling, sounding satisfied, Dennis launched up to kiss him again. Placing a steadying hand on the back of his neck, Mac gently lowered him back down to the bed.

Dennis folded his arms around Mac’s neck, keeping him where he was; Mac planning on working his way lower but, trapped now, he melted down into Dennis’s body and made himself comfortable instead.

With very little help from Dennis, Mac stripped them both down to absolutely nothing. Dennis curled his hands into Mac’s hair and tugged him down between his legs.

“Please,” he murmured. “Please, shit. Fuck.”

Grinning, Mac pressed his mouth to the inside of Dennis’s thigh.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Mac breathed.

He pulled himself closer to Dennis’s cock, squirming in between his legs. Hells, was there anywhere more perfect than right here?

“You sound so sexy,” Mac breathed, pressing his mouth to the inside of Dennis’s thigh. Dennis sighed, bumping his hips towards Mac’s face. “Fuck. I wanna watch you get off.”

He was breathing too hard, he knew it. Dennis gave a wordless moan, twisting his hips towards Mac’s face. Mac sighed and bent closer, pressing his mouth to the head.

“You’re so hot,” he panted. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

He bent down, yanking Dennis closer. Dennis arched his hips towards Mac’s face, twisting shamelessly in his direction.

Dennis was...energetic, Mac thought; he would call it a challenge for sure, as he barely ducked out of the way in time to miss Dennis’s foot kicking out spasmodically. Dennis groaned, back arching, fingers twisting in his sheets.

“ _God_ , Mac…” he sighed. “Just like that, yeah...”

Panting, Mac pressed his lips in a meandering line up Dennis’s body and smothered himself on the arch of his throat.

“Fuck, okay,” he said, leaning back when Dennis tugged on his hair. Mac planted his hands on either side of Dennis’s shoulders, looking down at him. He said, “I wanna fuck you. Do you think we could maybe do that?”

Dennis grinned, savagely rocking up his hips again, his legs spreading wider. Mac stroked the outside of his thigh.

“Yeah,” Dennis said, eyes bright. He stroked Mac’s hair, the side of his face. Mac turned his head to trail his open mouth across Dennis’s palm as it slipped away. “I think we can manage that.”

“Badass,” he said.

Dennis gripped the back of his head, pulling him down again—then he was gripping Mac’s back, whining softly in his ear when Mac reached down between them to get his hand around his dick. Dennis hitched his legs higher on Mac’s waist, stroking his chest. 

“Is this good?” Mac whispered into his neck. “I can—do something else if you want.”

“No, no, it’s good,” Dennis assured him. “Come kiss me again.”

“Okay,” he said, and cupped Dennis’s face in his hands again.

Dennis rolled them onto their sides, slipping their thighs together. Mac grinded against him instinctively, messy and shameless and he couldn’t help it.

“Come on, stop that,” said Dennis, shoving at Mac’s chest. “All my stuff’s in the middle drawer. Go get it.”

Mac dug around a little. “You’re so bossy,” he accused.

“Just look around, man,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows. “Maybe look under the bong, things are always getting stuck there.”

Mac did indeed find all Dennis’s sex stuff under his large and weirdly shaped piece. Dennis split into a grin, reaching out eagerly when Mac turned around and climbed on top of him. Hands settled on the back of Mac’s thighs like they belonged there, familiar and warm; he stroked his thumbs in circles into the sensitive flesh, making Mac shiver. Their smiles bumped clumsily when Mac leaned down to kiss him, cupping his face in his hands.

Dennis grabbed his ass and pulled him down closer.

“Get a move on there, Mac. I’ve got a hot date later.”

“Ha ha,” Mac told him blandly.

He rolled them over, running his hands over Dennis’s thighs as he settled on top of him. But Dennis was feeling him up, after for awhile he forgot what he was supposed to be doing as he settled into a rhythm of grinding together. Dennis reached back to grab the lube bottle, ignoring Mac’s hands slipped over him as he tried to coax him back into what they were doing, but Dennis pressed the bottle into his hand with a meaningful look.

“I thought you wanted to fuck me,” he said. “Don’t you wanna fuck me, Mac?”

Mac knew he was laying it on thick, but he didn’t care. Dennis wrapped himself around Mac, shifting restlessly closer as Mac spread him with one hand and pressed a slick finger inside with the other. Dennis made the most beautiful sound—a hitching mess of a thing, half-surprised, a little throaty.

“That’s good,” he said, pulling at Mac’s hair. It felt more like he was trying to force Mac into some unknowable will than like he was straining under the pleasure. “Mm, tilt your hand a little higher. Like that, mhm, fuck yeah.”

Mac pressed another finger inside, bending to brush his lips against Dennis’s throat. He planted wet kisses down his collar, until he reached his nipple and flicked his tongue out on it. Dennis shoved his hips back ruthlessly, riding Mac’s fingers, spurring him on. 

“Okay, okay. I’m ready,” Dennis panted a few minutes later. “Get...Get off me.”

He pushed at Mac’s wrists.

“Okay, okay. Leaders,” Mac muttered, holding Dennis down by the hips as he slipped his fingers out. Dennis made a small sound. “I’m trying to be gentle.”

“Who the fuck asked you to be gentle?” said Dennis. “What? I’m not losing my virginity on prom night, Mac.”

Mac scowled.

“I just wanna make it good for you,” he said stubbornly. Dennis gave him a look as he turned over and braced himself on his hands.

“Please stop making this sound like our wedding night. You’re scaring me off.”

“Shut up, bitch.”

He spread his knees, slipping a hand between his thighs to get it wet first. Dennis glanced back again.

“Are you really gonna make me wait?” he said. “On my own limited edition silk sheets?”

“Sorry,” said Mac, trying to get his bearings. It was hard to stop touching himself once he’d started. He gripped at Dennis’s back, tugging him into the right position. “Your sheets are limited edition?”

“Yes, a very famous DJ hosted an extremely short-lived linens collection. Condoms, dude?” said Dennis.

“Oh, come on. It’s not like you can get pregnant or anything.”

“You’re not fucking me without protection, Mac,” Dennis said witheringly. “You’re probably riddled with all sorts of freakish diseases.”

“I don’t have any diseases!” he said, stung.

“Do you really not wear condoms when you have sex with random people?”

“Uh, no. But you’re not random, Den.” 

Turning a curious and intriguing shade of pink, Dennis snapped with somewhat less than his usual bluster, “That’s still really fucking gross. Just go get the goddamn condom.”

Mac found a sleeve in the sex-and-weed drawer and rolled one on.

“Are you nearly good?” he asked waspishly. “Have I mentioned how much I splashed out on the sheets? I deserve to be fucked in my nice sheets, Mac.”

“Holy shit, dude, is this the first time you’ve ever had sex in this bed or something?”

“I’m merely trying to take advantage of a good situation,” he said. “And I just— _oh_ , goddamn.” 

He was abruptly done with that particular thought as Mac pushed inside him; Mac recognized the look on his face from the side that wasn’t pressed against the bed, he wasn’t going to say much that wasn’t directly consequential to getting fucked like he liked it. Mac had had that look before. It was awesome.

He circled his hips a little, trying to find the right spot to keep it awesome for Dennis too. His eyelids flickered, a soft whine slipping out.

“You can do it a little faster,” Dennis said breathlessly, glancing back at him again.

Mac tightened his grip on his hips. Dennis was shoving back, moving with him. Mac watched his spine arch gorgeously as Mac scratched his nails up his back and fastened his hand in his hair, and Dennis gasped, his hips stilling as he sat all the way back on Mac’s cock. Mac humped forward as far as he could, angling for that place inside that kept making him moan and gasp out—

“Please.” He pressed his face into the bed. “Please, Mac, fuck—”

Privately, Mac thought he was greatly benefiting from having some manners fucked into him. It never hurt to try.

“How’s that, baby?” Mac murmured, still pressed all the way inside and barely pulling out at all as he rubbed into that spot. “Does that feel good? 

Dennis grabbed at the corner of his bed, fingers clenching in his beloved silk sheets and yanking them free from the mattress.

“Oh,” he moaned softly. “Touch me. Touch me.”

He pulled Mac’s hand off the bed and guided it between his legs. Mac gripped the shaft, and his hips shifted into longer, slower thrusts at the same time, hand moving on his cock with the same rhythm as he shifted in and out. Dennis’s fingers clenched.

“I’m gonna come soon,” he blurted out. “Holy shit, Mac. I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me—”

He lost it, all over his bed and his own stomach. As he did, he reached back and gripped onto Mac’s thigh.

When he was done, he collapsed onto his stomach. Mac went down with him with a grunt.

“Shit,” Dennis groaned. Mac pressed his lips against his shoulder, apologetic.

“My bad, dude,” he said, wriggling his arm between Dennis and the bed so he could wrap a secure arm around his waist. “I should’ve had you.”

“It’s fine,” said Dennis. He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you gonna finish in me or what, fresh meat?”

“I know you meant that in a bratty jock way, but it sounds really dirty.”

Dennis grinned—and he was wheezing, huffing laughter into his pillows when Mac pulled his hips back and started thrusting again. His laugh quickly shifted into punched-out, breathless sounds and Mac fucked inside him one last time and came hard.

He more or less slumped forward onto Dennis, smothering them back into the bed. Dennis elbowed him.

“Rude,” he said.

Mac nuzzled his smile safely away in the back of Dennis’s neck.

“Afterglow starts _after_ you pull out,” Dennis muttered.

“Aw, shit. You wanted me to pull out? You should’ve told me that before I threw out all your condoms.”

He brushed a kiss to the top of Dennis’s spine. Dennis’s scoff segued messily into a protesting groan as Mac pulled out, steadying himself on Dennis’s lower back. Mac threw the condom at the garbage, missed by a lot, and laid down next to Dennis.

“Well, date to the clinic tomorrow’s on me,” Mac sighed, stroking his thumb into his ribs. “The good news is, I’ve been there enough times now that my next visit is free.”

Dennis cracked an eye open.

“You’d better be joking, Mac,” he said. “I am not ruining these good looks with syphilis scars.”

“It’s just a drug-resistant form of herpes.”

“I know you’re only kidding,” Dennis said cautiously, “but if you don’t knock it off, I swear on the Council I’ll teabag the shit out of you while you sleep tonight.”

“I’d like that.”

“You’re a pervert.”

“Takes one to know one,” said Mac, just as a large yawn overtook him. “Do you mind if I close my eyes for a second, man? I promise I’ll head out in a few minutes.”

He was already doing it, slipping an arm across Dennis’s waist, his face pushing into his neck.

Dennis huffed in what seemed like an interesting combination of insulted and amused.

“Do I have a choice?” Dennis sneered, at odds with the hand that settled in Mac’s hair and began to stroke the strands.

“You like it, don’t lie to me.” He went to jab Dennis in the side, but he was tired and it just sort of turned into him tracing the shape of his rib. “Wake me up in a few hours, ‘kay? I have to be somewhere at four, and I gotta run home and get my backpack first.”

“Four _a.m._?” Dennis asked, as though he had never heard of such a time before.

Mac nodded drowsily, but he didn’t have the energy to say anything else, and soon he fell asleep.

With such an early start on the day, Mac was all done and home by two in the afternoon. He thought about calling Dennis but the minute he got through his door, he collapsed onto his bed and fell asleep for eight hours; when he woke up, it wasn’t long until midnight.

Dennis called him at lunch the day after, while Mac was sitting on a fountain Center City with Charlie and sandwiches from the good deli up the road.

“Hey,” said Mac when he picked up, not waiting for Dennis to talk. “I’m glad you called. Are you free tonight at eight?”

“Um...Yes,” he said. He sounded thoroughly wrongfooted, as though he’d meant to call someone else and was surprised to hear Mac on the line. “But—”

“Great. I’m picking you up.” He kicked his legs. Voice dropping lower, he asked, “What are you gonna wear?”

“No,” said Dennis, nearly back to his usual amount of bite. “You just hijacked me asking you out! I’m not gonna spoil the best part too.”

“Okay, fine.” He tried instead, “What are you wearing right now?”

Dennis snorted. “Goodbye, Mac.”

Grinning, Mac shoved his phone back where it came from; beside him, Charlie looked vaguely grossed out.

“Ew,” he marveled. “Who was _that_?”

“Dennis,” he gloated. “We had sex. Awesome sex. It was awesome.”

“Nasty,” he said, even more morbidly intrigued. “Who was on top?”

Mac smacked him upside the head, and Charlie choked on his mouthful of sandwich.

“Ow! What?”

“You can’t ask that, Charlie!” He crossed his arms. “That’s offensive.”

“How is it offensive?” said Charlie. “Wouldn’t it be more offensive _not_ to ask? I’d ask details about it if you banged a chick!”

“That’s different.”

“How is it different?”

“It just is!” he said, exasperated. “You wouldn’t ask about our _positions_.”

Charlie shrugged.

“It’s all gross to me,” he said. “One big pile of sweat and jizz.”

Mac shook his head. “You’re such a virgin, dude.”

“No I’m not! I slept with Stacy Corvelli, remember her?”

Mac snorted. “Yeah. Talk about gross.”

“I think she gave me crabs,” said Charlie.

“Trust me, Charlie, if she gave you crabs—you’d know.”

“Well, you’re the one with a punch card to the free clinic.” He grinned. “Is that where you’re taking Dennis on your date tonight?”

“Shut up, Charlie.”

“Well, you already slept with him!” said Charlie. “So it seems safe to assume, you know, that after you two—”

“Your mind is so fucked up and weird,” said Mac.

“Oh, Dennis,” Charlie sighed, exaggerating past humor, sticking out his tongue in mimicry of the sloppiest kiss Mac had ever witnessed. “Let me put more scabies babies in you—”

Mac thwacked him so hard that he fell off the fountain.

The living room floor was cold, and hard. Without Charlie around to set up the fireplace, Mac had struggled the shitty, nonmagick way for thirty minutes before giving up and using his Zippo on some candles that Dennis found in the back of his enormous pantry. They scattered them in excess around where they were laying in front of the coffee table, though if Mac was being honest, they hadn’t cushioned the hardwood with a thick enough blanket. His elbows dug in painfully every time he moved around.

“Ow, fuck!”

“Sorry, m’sorry,” Dennis muttered. He propped himself up on Mac’s chest to sweep some hair off of his sweaty forehead. “You okay?”

He blinked down at Mac innocently enough, serious, albeit breathless, but his mouth was so red and he looked so disheveled that Mac immediately forgot what he was hurt over; tangling fingers in his hair, Mac yanked him back down with a grunt—on both their parts, once Dennis set his arms down hard to balance himself on either side of Mac on the blanket.

Dennis made the most incredible noises when they kissed like this, slow and lingering and with Mac’s hands all over his body. He sounded all quiet and breathless, pliant. Wanting.

Mac released him, falling back with a huff, when Dennis lifted himself up without warning and squinted into the darkness squeezing against the protective ring of light that fell on their portion of the living room.

“Where are you going?” Mac complained, wrapping his arms around his waist to tug their bodies flush against each other.

But Dennis shushed him, reaching to cover his mouth. Mac bit unsuccessfully at his hand.

“Shut up,” Dennis hissed. “Did you hear that?”

Mac froze for a moment, straining to listen—but there was nothing, and then still nothing. He relaxed, cupping the back of Dennis’s neck. He tried to coax him down far enough for Mac to get his mouth on the sharp edge of his jaw.

But just as Dennis began to sink into it, settling in enough for Mac to put his lips on his collar and begin a path toward his throat, Mac heard it too, louder this time: Something scratching at the door.

“See?” Dennis whispered, all high strung and tense as he slid off Mac’s lap. He gathered the blanket in his hands, covering his chest. “See? What the fuck is that, Mac?”

“Why do I have to investigate?!”

“Because you’re the one always going on about how tough you are!”

“I’m not just ‘going on’ about it, Dennis,” he said in his normal voice, flexing his arms on instinct. “I’ve been spending a lot of time at the gym lately, you _know_ this—”

“Oh my god, shut up!” Dennis hissed. “Shut the fuck up about tacking on mass, for once in your life! Someone is breaking into my apartment!”

“Okay, okay. Relax, babe.” He shifted himself between Dennis and the door; he was right, Mac was the tough one who took care of business. Diffused situations or threw the first punch, depending on what was called for. “I got this.”

“You’re an idiot,” said Dennis, shuffling to press himself against Mac’s back. His fingers dug into Mac’s shoulders like pincers. “Don’t call me babe.”

“We can talk about that later.”

They both stared at the door, waiting. The scratching came again, loud like before. The door rattled a little.

“No one breaks into anything around here,” Dennis said, low and urgent in his ear. “This is your fault.”

“ _What_?”

He half-turned around, but Dennis grabbed his sides anxiously, holding him fast.

“Yeah. Yeah. They probably followed you from your place, this kind of thing doesn’t happen on my side of town,” he rushed out. “Who knows what kind of grudge they’re holding or what they’re willing to do about it—!”

“Alright, that’s enough!” said Mac. “I’ve got a plan.”

“You do?” he asked in a different voice: wary, hopeful.

“Of course I do!” he said, puffing his chest out a little. “Alright. When they get inside, I’m gonna blind them, and then you choke them out. Okay? Get ready.”

“ _What_? And how exactly do you plan on doing that, Mac? What if they’re seven feet tall?”

“What do you mean?” said Mac. “Same way we do everything! Magicka!”

“I…Right,” said Dennis. “But what makes you think I know how to choke somebody out?”

“Because you did it to that guy we beat up the day we first met.” Mac twisted around to look at him. “I threw him over that table, and then you—”

“I don’t think that’s exactly how it happened,” Dennis muttered.

“—stole his breath, or something. I don’t know, but it looked pretty cool!” Mac said. “And he totally lost consciousness!”

“Oh...yeah,” he said, dipping his head. “Um, but I don’t know if—”

The door rattled again.

“Get your hands up,” Mac said grimly.

“But I’m just saying, I don’t think—”

“Would you just put your fucking—”

“Would you listen to me, man? If they’re trying to murder us in some sort of terrifying frenzy—”

“That’s why I need you to help defend us!”

“What if there’s more than one of them?”

“Then we’ll have a fighting chance!” Mac yelled. “So can you get ready, please?”

“No!”

They fell silent, staring at each other. Dennis seemed to be breathing harder than usual, and the flush in his cheeks wasn’t for the fun reason anymore. Mac opened his mouth—

The door behind them shook again, louder than before; Mac jumped, arms splaying out to shield Dennis. A quiet skitter launched from the front door and shot low down along one of the walls. Mac unclenched.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

Dennis’s head poked over his shoulder. “What?”

“That’s not a burglar, Dennis.” He rolled his eyes, stalking toward where he’d heard it go.

“What? It’s not?”

“No, dumbass. I know that sound…”

“What? Where are you going? Hey, Mac—”

He crouched over as he felt along the baseboard blindly in the dark, outside the safe, warm circle of light they’d created in the living room.

Mac straightened up, cursing abundantly. He kicked at the wall.

“It’s a fucking mouse, Dennis.” He scowled, kicking at the hole again. “You’ve got mice. _Leaders_.”

“What? I do? Gross!”

“I’ll call Charlie tomorrow, he’s good with that kind of stuff.” Mac came closer, gesturing around. “Dennis, what the fuck was that?”

He had been frowning as he scanned the apartment, low, near the baseboards; but he looked up now, his curls flopping over onto his forehead and his mouth ajar. His hair was all loose and untamed from kissing Mac on the blanket—a blanket which was currently wrapped around his bare shoulders, cascading over him like a cape or gown.

“Huh?” he asked.

“Why didn’t you do something?” he demanded, feeling like he wanted to shake Dennis by the shoulders. He got closer as though he was going to do so, but Dennis didn’t move. Sorcerers Above, did he have any self-preservation at all? “You couldn’t even _pretend_ like you were gonna help me.”

Dennis looked at him for a beat too long before rolling his eyes, so it didn’t look entirely natural.

“What do you need my help for?” he sneered. “Since you can handle _anything_ —”

“Don’t do that!” Mac shouted. “Don’t do that, Dennis. What if I’m not here next time?”

“Then I’ll probably be fine, because it was just a fucking mouse!”

“It could be a serial killer next time!”

“That doesn’t make any fucking sense!” Dennis fell back a step, looking Mac over with his arms crossed, his lip curled. “ _Not_ that that surprises me. You’re not the _brightest_ bulb in the box.”

Mac’s cheeks flared red. Stymied, and for long enough that a triumphant smile began curling Dennis’s usually pretty mouth, he spluttered in his own defense.

“You have issues,” he spat eventually. He poked Dennis in the chest, and Dennis’s smile flickered like he’d hit an off switch. “Fine, asshole. If you wanna get murdered in the middle of the night—that’s just _fine_ by me!”

“Fine.”

“I just said it was fine!”

“Dickhead.”

“ _You’re_ a dickhead!”

Cussing under his breath, Mac rifled beneath the couch for his missing clothes. He slipped on shoes and clutched his shirt to his chest. He’d barely crossed into the hall when the door slammed behind him.

Mac leaned against the wall and let out his first real breath in minutes, his expression collapsing. Safe from Dennis’s incendiary rage, he closed his eyes, and breathed. It felt good.

But it felt a lot better once he turned around and tried to put his fist through the expensive hallway wall, even though he only hit it hard enough to bruise his knuckles.

Dennis cracked open the door at a quarter to noon the next day. Curled up with his coat for a pillow, Mac woke at the noise and blinked blearily up at him. Dennis’s face was a mask.

“Weird noises coming from your dad’s apartment, dude,” he said, sitting up to stretch. His back cracked loudly. “Like, all night long.”

He rolled his shoulders, rubbing his neck. His back was killing him from lying on the floor all night.

Dennis sighed.

“You wanna come inside?” he asked. “I just put coffee on.”

Mac nodded. Dennis stood by, watching with an indecipherable expression as Mac gathered his coat and brushed past him to see what was cooking on the stove.

“This is so exciting,” said Mac.

Dennis turned pink, ducking his head as he donned Mac’s usual backpack—but he couldn’t quite hide how he was smiling. Winding an arm around his waist, Mac pressed a kiss to his warm cheek.

“It’s not a big deal, Mac,” he said in a low, happy voice. “Dee’s been doing runs with you for days, right? And if Dee can do it, Sorcerers know I can.”

“Two weeks,” Dee declared, sauntering into the room. A wooden box with what appeared to be huge fake sunglasses poking out the top lay in her arms. “I’ve been helping you assholes out for two weeks already.”

“That just makes it worse, Dee,” said Charlie, “because you’re not any good at it.”

“What are you talking about? I’m good!”

“You’ve got—Look at this! Take a look at what she’s bringing!” Charlie marveled. Despite Dee’s warning shout, Charlie stuck his hand in the box and yanked free—Mac and Dennis leaned in to peer at it, but no, Mac couldn’t imagine why she was bringing aerosol on a simple haul. Unless she was going to huff it? In that case, Mac and Charlie just needed the extra hands—she was already more liability than asset at this point. They could find someone better walking five minutes down the street.

“Leave that stuff here please,” Mac said.

“Yeah. You’re making an asshole out of yourself,” said Dennis.

“Oh, you’re an expert now?” she said. “Is that right, Dennis? How many times have you gone with them again?”

“Shut up, you bitch—”

“Is it zero?”

They bickered, loading goods onto the table for Mac to Tetris into their backpacks. Charlie counted out bus fare for each of them.

“Alright, everybody take your shit,” said Mac. “Come on, next bus leaves in ten minutes and if we make it, we can make it to the movies by five-fifteen.”

“No hesitation,” said Charlie, scooping up his backpack gleefully.

“No surrender!” said Dennis.

“No man left behind!” they all yelled.

“Yeah, and that includes Thundergun,” said Mac, shoving matching backpacks at the twins. “So let’s hurry up and move product, guys!”

They scored seats not too far away from each other on the bus. Charlie kept covertly swapping things out of Mac’s side pockets and shoving them in his own—nonsense things, too. A pack of gum. Two stray cigarettes. One lucky bottle cap he got off his first legal beer and kept on him ever since.

“Give me that.” Mac snatched the bottle cap back and shoved it away in another pocket. “Stop opening the zipper, shit for brains.”

A few seats down, Dennis and Dee were having what appeared to be an entirely silent conversation. He was making such weird expressions.

“Dennis,” Mac called. “Hey, Dennis.”

He glanced up. “What?”

Mac nodded up at the stop cord.

“You paying attention?”

“Yes, Mac.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll remind you to pull it in three stops.”

Mac grinned, bright.

“Just checking,” he said. They’d given Dennis a very important job here, Mac wanted to be sure he aced it.

One of them wanted lunch as soon as they got off the bus, and then another spotted a cheesesteak cart. They didn’t have anywhere to wipe their hands except the sides of their jeans and by the time they got to the drop-off point, they were—

“Forty-seven minutes late!” Mrs. Oliynyk shouted, brandishing a wrench. “I’ve told you, when we have an agreement, I expect you to stick to it!”

“We got held up!” Mac yelped. His arms jumped to cover his head. “Would you put that down? Shit!”

“When I tell you I need you here at two-thirty, you better be here at two-thirty! My son came by not fifteen minutes ago, and if you’d walked in right then—!”

“We get here when we get here, alright?” Charlie threw his backpack on the counter. “You’re the only customer who gives a shit about time, and that’s what I like about you.”

She put her hands on her hips.

“But you always make me wait anyway, Charlie,” she said, but she was less loud now, a fondness cradling the edges of her bite. Mac scowled. “You’re bad. You’re a bad boy.”

“Yeah, he’s terrible,” said Mac. “Can you just give us what you need to give us so that we can get out of here?”

Mrs. Oliynyk sneered.

“You, I don’t like so much,” she said.

Mac sighed. “I know.”

“We’ll just take your illegally imported motor oil and go, Mrs. Oliynyk,” Charlie said cheerily, jumping up onto the hood of one of her cars. He patted the hood. “This one’s coming out nicely.”

She leveled a glare at him, although somehow it still seemed more friendly than when she looked at Mac.

“I’ll be right back,” she said eventually. “Don’t touch anything!”

She disappeared into the back, and they all let out a breath. Dee perched on a toolbox, and Mac and Dennis leaned on the car next to Charlie. Dennis was already lighting up a smoke.

“Can I have one?” Dee murmured.

“What do people buy black market motor oil for, anyway?” said Dennis as he passed a cigarette to her outstretched hand.

“They use it in some type of potion or something, I think,” said Mac.

“People _drink_ that?”

“No, you dumb bird. They use it on their cars. Magick enhancement or whatever.”

“Shouldn’t you know that?” said Charlie. “I mean, aren’t you trying to be a potioneer?”

“I—We haven’t covered that yet!” She gave an extremely forced shrug.

“You’re pathetic, Dee,” said Dennis. Mac slung an arm around his shoulders. “If you don’t even know why you’re moving what you’re moving, I mean...that’s a classic mistake.”

“You’re the pathetic one, you little bitch,” Dee said. “At least I never got us off at the wrong stop! I know my way around this city. I am _so_ much better at playing degenerate than you are—”

“Hey,” said Mac, but they didn’t seem to hear him.

“One little mistake, who gives a shit about that, Dee? I could get us home faster if you’d let me take my car, anyway—”

“What, in this traffic?” she asked. “Besides, don’t show your plates at a crime scene!”

“Oh, silly me! I didn’t realize there was a _handbook_ to smuggling! And I could totally drive any one of these cars home faster than you could take the bus.”

“Any of them?”

“So long as they’ve got all their parts, hell yes.”

“You are so full of shit,” Dee said, hands perched on her hips.

“Any one of them.”

“Uh...Guys?” said Mac.

“Fine...fine!” Dee paced a little ways down the row of cars, examining their merit. She rubbed her hands together. “This one.”

“Easy,” said Dennis. “I bet you I can get this junker home before you can make it there first.”

Dee paused. “I won’t give you extra time to hotwire it.”

Dennis grinned, leaning close to her.

“I won’t need it,” he gloated, showing all his teeth.

“Guys, I don’t know if—”

“What, Mac?” they both demanded. He hesitated.

“I was just saying,” he placated them with his hands showing. “You shouldn’t be making bets on these cars. I mean, not without working out a dollar amount first.”

Dennis paused, half inside the driver’s side of an old Toyota. He and Dee exchanged glances.

“That’s a great idea, Mac.”

“Yeah, you’re finally thinking.”

They all nodded at each other. Dennis was still hanging onto the door, poised to slide inside the car, when the back office opened.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mrs. Oliynyk demanded. “Do you little assholes think you can steal from me and I won’t call the police?”

“Uh oh,” said Dee.

“No, we weren’t—We weren’t stealing, ma’am, we were not stealing,” said Charlie.

“No,” Dennis agreed.

“We wouldn’t do that, uh...ma’am.”

“Right,” said Mac. “No way.”

They all looked at each other.

Mac tried, “So, if we could get our stuff—”

“Get out! Get out of here!”

“But we really need the oil,” Charlie protested. “Come on. Our buyers expect—”

“Yeah, and I mean,” said Dennis, shrugging. “We were just gonna take it for a quick race.”

For a minute, Mac thought they’d gotten away with it: She leaned around into the back office to get something….and came back with a baseball bat; Mac shoved Charlie off the hood of the car and rounded the Toyota, ushering Dennis out under his arm. The driver’s door slammed and Dennis dashed after him as he fled the shop.

Charlie nearly tripped over an oil can. Mac split off around the opposite side of a pillar from Dee.

“Knock something over,” Mac yelled at Dennis next to him.

“What?”

“Knock something over!” he shouted, panicked. “You know, something heavy so she can’t come after us.”

Dee crashed into a shelf, sending a heavy piece of machinery tumbling down from the top. Charlie tossed his hands up to cover his head and dove out of the way.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dennis said.

“Like you did with the shelves!”

“That’s the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard, Mac!” Dennis yelped. “This isn’t an action movie! She can run around stuff!”

They made it out of the shop, fled down the block and around another corner. When Mac looked back, he only saw Dennis behind him. No time to worry about the others, he snagged Dennis’s wrist and pulled him into an alley.

They stood panting together, out of sync. Mac glanced over at Dennis close to his side, peering around the corner down the block. A flush had settled on his cheeks and his hands were flat to his sides. Mac stared. Slowly, he reached out and grasped Dennis’s sleeve; Dennis looked around.

“What?” he whispered.

Still staring at his hand, Mac encircled Dennis’s wrist and turned his palm over to look at it. It looked completely normal. Mac raised his head to study his face.

“What?” Dennis said, a little harsher.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head suddenly. He snaked his fingers through Dennis’s to clutch his hand. “Is she gone?”

“Oh—I don’t know.” Dennis crept sideways to peer out of the alley again. He drew back a moment later and ducked close to Mac’s ear to breathe, “Coast looks clear. We should probably wait a couple minutes just in case.”

Mac swallowed.

“Why didn’t you use your magicka?” he asked.

“What?”

Dennis pulled back to stare. Mac gripped his hand tighter.

“In the car shop,” Mac said more urgently. “Why didn’t you use your magicka like I told you to?”

Something flickered on his face, just a second and then it was gone; a sneer swiftly took its place. Dennis jerked away from him.

“I don’t take orders from you,” he spat. Adjusting his grip on the backpack, he knocked his elbow with Mac’s. “Now come on. We’ve got more places we need to hit up before the movie starts.”

Mac followed him out of the alley and back into the streets.

“Well, at least now we’ve got plenty of time,” he said, glancing at him in shy bursts from the corner of his eye. “Since now we don’t have to deliver the oil. Shame I gotta find a new mechanic, though.”

“That woman was your mechanic?” Dennis asked curiously.

“What?” he said. “I mean to move cheap motor oil.”

“Oh.”

Dennis fell into a curious silence that lasted through two more stops. Mac glanced at him now and again, at the furrowed brow and the serious look on his face, but Dennis didn’t offer any explanations for his sudden mood, and Mac didn’t ask. Privately, he made a deal to make sure to look out for Dennis a lot more deliberately. Now he was officially one of Mac’s charges—like Charlie, and their illegal goods, and his apartment that was miles past shitty but still home and important to him.

They ran into Dee and Charlie again at the movie theater, who’d finished their half of today’s run and come to see Thundergun with or without them, too.

Dennis lifted one of Mac’s hands off his chest, stroking idly along the palm and up each one of his fingers. Mac tried to be considerate and let him be, but it was hard to focus when he’d had those same fingers in Dennis’s mouth, not even an hour ago.

“What happened here?” Dennis asked, jerking him from his reverie, from thinking about more things Dennis could put between his lips.

“Huh?”

Dennis was looking up at him from underneath his lashes, a tiny smile on his face: His go-to flirtatious look, the one that made Mac wanted to pin him against the nearest flat surface and kiss him for hours. The one that had made him do that very thing, countless times and in countless places, no matter the time or day or where they happened to be standing when that look came over his face.

But before Mac could bend down, Dennis lifted his hand and pressed a long, warm kiss to his open palm. Mac paused, swallowed. Dennis’s eyes had drifted closed, and he kept his lips there for a long time before he pulled away, cradling Mac’s hand against his cheek.

“Hmm?” he asked.

“You mean the scars,” said Mac, and it wasn’t really a question so much as a verbalization of his understanding but Dennis said, “Mhm,” anyway and went back to tracing the thin white mark with one finger. It had nearly faded out completely by now, just the slightest bit off-color. One line across both palms that burst out in every direction, like the branches of a tree from the trunk into the clear blue sky.

“Charlie,” said Mac. “Charlie burned me with lightning. It was a really long time ago, no big deal. Pretty badass, right?”

Dennis laughed.

“Totally,” he agreed. “Very hardcore, and…sexy.”

Mac could feel himself preening. Dennis wound closer, fingers tightening in Mac’s hair as he laid more warm kisses into his skin—his cheek, his neck, underneath his chin.

“Scars are hot,” Dennis breathed in between the presses of his lips. “Very hot, and...tough...and...badass…”

Mac’s hands drifted down his back.

“Don’t you want to know what happened?” Mac prompted when Dennis didn’t ask.

Dennis’s nose ran in a line, back and forth in the hollow of his neck. Soothing. Steady.

“Sure, baby,” he said. “If you like.”

“Well, we were playing with a void ball, right? Regular Saturday afternoon stuff. And _I_ had the brilliant idea that we could, like, combine our magick to make crazy-ass weather and shit! So Charlie crackled some lightning into the thing, and—”

Dennis curled his leg over Mac’s and kissed him, sufficiently interrupting his awesome retelling of his battle scars. He made a noise of protest, but Dennis had him anchored with a hand on the back of his neck.

“Dennis,” he whined, when he moved to kiss Mac’s throat. “You’re not even listening.”

“I am,” he insisted. His lips moved on the underside of Mac’s chin. “You were playing with fire, and then Charlie did something stupid, and you burned your hands.”

“That’s not it.” Mac’s fingers gripped into Dennis’s hair, tugged. “I _said_ —”

“Mac, baby.” Dennis stilled him with a hand gripping his chin and blinked seriously into his eyes. “I mean this with every bone in my body: Shut up.”

Mac was offended for as long as it took Dennis to wrap his arms around his neck and nuzzle their noses together. Mac went cross-eyed to look at him, anger fizzling out as confusion settled in its place.

“Den?”

“Are you already done with me?” he teased. “One round and now you’re out for the night?”

“Fuck you,” said Mac. He grabbed Dennis’s wrists, prising his arms away. “You don’t talk shit! I’m capable of lots of sex! Big long nights of it!”

Dennis, he suspected, let Mac wrestle him down into the bed. He was laughing as he looked up at Mac from the pillows, curling his ankle through both his own, wrapping his arms around Mac’s neck, fingers drifting up and down his spine. Still laughing when Mac traced the shape of his ear, eyes going soft, and leaned down to kiss him again.

Dennis pulled him closer, tighter, rolling his body up. Mac let Dennis turn them over and pin him down.

“Yeah,” he muttered, as Dennis worked his hand down in between them, and his other traveled upwards. “Yeah, do it, choke me.”

Dennis sat up on top of him, a grin spreading across his face. He rubbed Mac’s cock with one hand, the other closing around his throat.

Mac tossed his head a little, playing it up. Dennis shifted, squeezed at his neck. Yanking him down to crush their mouths together again made him cough a laugh—as soon as Dennis loosened his grip.

“Hold me down too,” he said breathlessly.

Dennis huffed.

“I can’t do all three,” he complained. 

Mac rolled his eyes.

“Yes you can,” he stressed, raising his eyebrows. When Dennis frowned, he didn’t even think about it—just shifted up onto his elbows and asked, “Can you not do magicka like you said?”

He blinked. Dennis froze. His gaze slid slowly back to Mac’s face, and something in it made Mac’s heart seize for a reason he couldn’t identify.

“What?” Dennis asked. Low. Dangerous.

“I just mean,” said Mac, scrambling out from underneath him more, pushing himself up to eye level. “Like, can you not do airplay stuff like you told me? Is it something else?”

“What exactly are you talking about here, Mac?” he asked. His voice was strange, suspicious and—if Mac didn’t know better—with warning running in an undercurrent.

“I know you never use it when I’m around,” he said.

“That’s not true,” said Dennis. “I used magicka when we met. At the deli.”

Mac shook his head. “Well, I don’t know what happened there. But other than that…I mean, I’ve never seen you use it, man. Not even once!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dennis said stiffly. “I use magicka every single day.”

“At first I thought you just didn’t know how to defend yourself,” said Mac. “After the burglary stuff and what happened at Mrs. Olinyk’s. I was gonna teach you some karate, it was gonna be hot.”

“I know how to defend myself, Mac,” he sneered. “I survived twenty-four years without you.”

“But you never do it,” said Mac. “If you need tips—”

“I don’t need tips!” Dennis said, tossing his hands. “Are you _listening_ to me, Mac?”

“It’s okay,” he half-laughed, trying to lighten the mood that seemed to have settled over the room like a weighted blanket, crushing him, making it harder to breathe. “What kinda weird magicka do you even have to have to get _embarrassed_ about it—”

“Fuck you.”

Dennis scrambled off of him, and off the bed—Mac reached out, but he couldn’t get a good enough grip on his shoulder, and then Dennis was miles away and pulling his clothes back on with enough force to tear the seams of Mac’s stolen threadbare t-shirt. Admittedly, it had been a lot less worn before Mac took it from him and put it through the ringer first.

“Wait—Dennis—”

“Who exactly do you think you are?” Dennis said, jabbing his finger in Mac’s chest as he got close. Mac recoiled, outstretched arms falling back to his sides. “Do you think you’re, like, special or something? Think this is some sort of fairytale ending, and you’ve gotten to know the real me and won my heart? Because that is so fucking dumb, I don’t even know where to start with it. You don’t know anything, asshole.”

“But Dennis—Hang on—”

“No, Mac!” he shouted. “God _damn_ it. This isn’t one of your—stupid ass romcoms—”

“Sorcerers, Dennis,” he groaned. “I know that! Don’t you think I know that?”

“Apparently not,” Dennis sneered. “Since you think you’re here to just—sweep me off my feet—”

“All I did was ask one fucking question! Wait.” He grabbed Dennis’s arm as he turned to go. Dennis wrenched it free but he stayed, glaring. But staying. “What’s the matter with you? Why can’t you just tell me—no, just _show_ me, you know I won’t give a shit! Dennis, I play around with the void, and with outer space, and I’m running dark magicka night and day for your fucking _dad_. What magicka could you possibly have that would scare me off?”

“Oh please, tell me more about how you’ve just got magick shooting out of your ass, Mac!” Dennis shouted. “It’s really helping the situation!”

“What is your fucking _problem_?” Mac yelled. “You’re acting like you’re pissed off at me just for having powers!”

“Maybe I am!”

“That doesn’t make any fucking sense!” said Mac. “Why are you being insane? You’re acting like you’ve got something to be jealous of.”

Dennis scoffed so hard he staggered backwards.

“Name one thing I could _possibly_ have to be jealous of,” said Dennis. As he recovered, he began to get a grip around a sneer. “About you? Please.”

“I don’t know, but you’re throwing a fucking fit like you’re pissed off I even have magicka in the first place!” 

“What?” Dennis yelped. He shook his head, getting shriller. “I don’t even...What do you...I don’t know what you...What?!”

Mac frowned at him.

“Dennis?” he asked. Dennis crossed his arms, looking away. “Dennis, are you saying that you don’t—”

“Shut up!” Dennis snapped. “Shit! You’re so—You’re so wrong, you don’t even know how wrong you are! It’s crazy!” 

“I just want you to be honest with me! I thought we could talk. We can talk, right?”

“Oh, you wanna talk, Mac? Sure. Let’s _talk_ ,” he said, sugary sweet—and Mac drew back, his instincts setting off warning bells. “How about we talk about the fact that I don’t have to tell you shit? Because we’re not some happily ever after couple! Because we’re not a couple at all!”

“Of course we are,” he said, quietened. “We’ve been boyfriends for weeks—”

“You think we’re together?” Dennis sneered. Mac knew him well enough to know he didn’t mean it, but it still stung. He curled in on himself. “We’re not boyfriends, Mac. We’re not even dating. At _most_ you’re a convenient fuckbuddy. On good days, you’re a friend with benefits who just always happens to be awake when I’m horny.”

Mac frowned.

“Don’t say that,” he said. He shook his head, heat-softened fringe sweeping his forehead. “I know you don’t mean that, Den. You’re just upset—”

“You’re damn right I am! Because you’re still fucking acting like you know me!”

“I _do_ know you,” Mac shouted back. “Sorcerers, Dennis. Why do you have to be such a shithead about everything?”

Dennis gaped at him.

“How could you say that to me?”

“Because you’re being a shithead!”

“I want you to go home,” Dennis said.

The note of finality in his voice made Mac’s heart fall.

Reaching out to him, Mac said, gentler, “Let’s go back to bed, sweetheart. We don’t have to talk about it, not tonight, let’s just lay back down. That was _good_ —I promise, I’ll make it good—”

“I don’t see how you plan on doing that when I never want to see you again!” he yelled.

He stormed over to open the door. Mac sighed, shook his head.

“Don’t have a fucking coronary over it, hells—”

“I said I don’t fucking want to see you. Are you deaf?”

“Just let me...Come on!”

“Get out of my fucking apartment!” Dennis wrenched the door open further, so hard it slammed into the wall. He pointed out into the hall.

“Dennis…”

“Get the fuck out of here, Mac! I don’t want to see you again!”

Mac looked at him for a long moment—mouth twisted, expression set, his finger sternly in the air. He sighed, bowed his head. And left.

Mac tossed the tennis ball into the wall, watched it bounce, caught it again.

“Would you stop doing that?” said Charlie. “It’s _so_ annoying.”

“Sorry! I’m sorry,” Mac muttered. Charlie scoffed and went back to his drawing. “It’s just, you know…I can’t stop thinking.”

Charlie scribbled hard with his blue colored pencil.

“What the shit, man,” he said. “Are you still sulking about Dennis?”

“What? I’m not sulking.”

“Yes you are, you’re totally sulking.” Charlie rolled his eyes. “I can tell ‘cause I’ve been watching Top Wand for an hour and a half and you haven’t said more than three things about Tom Cruise’s body.”

Mac scowled.

“Tom Cruise isn’t even my type,” he lied.

“Tom Cruise is everybody’s type.” Charlie poked him with his toe. His sock had a hole in it. “Alright, Mac, what do you wanna do? Do you wanna sit here and drown in all that self-pity, or do you want to come to the bar with me?”

Mac sighed.

“The bar,” he admitted, wishing he felt differently. Charlie nodded curtly as he got up and went to go get changed.

The bar sucked. It was loud, and full of these flashing fake bright colors, and Mac couldn’t catch the eye of any beefcakes higher than a 4, which was his absolute minimum. He made out with someone after he bought Mac six tequila shots and they grinded up on each other to Beyoncé, but that wasn’t novel enough to make him feel any better. Stumbling, and very drunk, he tossed his arm around Charlie’s shoulder to hold himself up on the walk home.

“Holy shit,” Charlie gasped. “You’re heavy as shit, dude! Have you been carboloading?”

“No,” Mac said. He watched a cat across the street hiss at a possum and then try to slap it. The possum flipped out, attacked it, and scurried away as the cat took off too. “I miss Dennis.”

“For the love of the Council, Mac, if you mention Dennis one more I'm going to scratch your beady little eyes out. It’s been three days!”

“Almost four days, now,” he groused.

The morning was six hundred times worse. He wasn’t twenty-one anymore, slinging back shots and getting up to lift weights or shoot hoops at ten a.m. the next morning. Now—well, he still slammed shots, but holy shit did his body feel awful the next day.

“Once you’re done with breakfast, get dressed,” said Charlie, barreling into the room like a grubby tornado. “I just got us a job, Center City. Come on, let’s go. Bus leaves in fifteen.”

Mac groaned and buried his face in his arms. Even coffee couldn’t save him like this.

But damn it if he didn’t try, on his third cup already by the time the bus rolled to a stop in the business district; his body still felt like shit but his head was better, only pounding a little at the bright sun until he slipped his glasses off his head and back down his nose.

They met up with a few of their contacts in the usual spot, confirming it was a slow day for business all around; Tuesdays were never money-makers, which was partly why Mac tended to stay home early in the week.

He and Charlie stopped for lunch at the good deli in town. Mac—to his surprise—found himself in good spirits, at least until they rounded the last corner.

“Aw, damn it, Charlie,” he said, stomping his foot.

“No time for any idle chitchat or bitching,” Charlie said. “Let’s hurry up, now.”

Mac frowned miserably up at the storefront until Charlie curled a hand around his elbow and yanked him away.

Frank was sitting behind the corner when they came in, apparently off the deep end again (as he seemed to be every couple of months) ripping a bong in plain sight.

“Good afternoon, bitches!”

Mac huffed a laugh, leaning on the counter. “What’s up, Frank? You enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah, what’s going on?” Charlie said, wasting no time as he joined Frank behind the counter. “You called and said you had something time-sensitive you wanted to show me?”

Frank set his bong down somewhere below and waved over his shoulder.

“You know where I keep the goods, follow me.”

“Can I come?” Mac asked, straining his neck to see through the door. He’d never been allowed back there.

“No,” said Frank, and shut it behind them.

Mac scoffed.

“Whatever dude, I didn’t wanna see your back room anyway. Probably super lame…”

Whistling, he drummed his fingers on the countertop and glanced around. His gaze landed on a young mother shopping a mere aisle away—just in time for her to look up and catch his eye.

“Excuse me,” she began.

“Oh…No,” Mac explained, and he kickstarted in another direction.

In his haste to get away from her, he didn’t pay attention to where he was going until he looked up and found himself in a small section full of books. Another disastrous mistake.

Backing away, hands in the air, Mac didn’t see the guy behind him until he bumped right into him.

“Oh, shit!” He spun around. “Sorry, I’m so sorry, dude.”

The man turned around at the same time, eyebrows halfway up his forehead. Mac startled, gaze dragging up and down as he checked him out.

“Oh, shit,” he said again. Dude was hot.

“It’s okay. That was my fault,” the other guy said.

“Right, of course it was!” said Mac. “Uh...right. So. Sorry again.”

He edged around the other man, who shot Mac a little smile.

“It’s all good.”

Mac cast his eyes down as he turned to go, but they alighted on the book in the guy’s hands.

“Oh, _Life of Men_. I love that book,” Mac said before he could think it over.

The guy shrugged.

“I’m just reading it for the pictures of the dudes having sex,” he admitted.

“Me too!” Mac said on a laugh. “I love how graphic it is.”

“Yeah, it's pretty graphic.”

They beamed at each other for a moment—Mac couldn’t help checking him out again, a little more blatantly.

“Mac,” he said.

“Rex.”

“Badass name, bro,” said Mac. “How’d you get it?”

“Some dude was making fun of me on the machine,” said Rex. “And then we started getting into it, you know, sorta showing off to each other.”

“Classic gym battle, right,” Mac nodded.

Rex shrugged.

“And then, yeah…We both realized the other had some great moves, and we offered to train each other up. He said I was, uh, strapped like a T-Rex, and that was it.”

“What, like, with little arms?”

“No, more like huge and strong enough to ward off predators,” said Rex. “Anyway, we’re tight now, so it’s all good.”

“Oh,” said Mac, blinking at him. “Tight like…?”

He mimed sex best he could; Rex’s eyebrows jumped before he broke into laughter.

“No, tight like we meet up to train a couple times a week, and maybe grab a beer now and then,” said Rex. “He has a girlfriend.”

“Well that makes more sense, because you are just...a specimen,” said Mac in disbelief, now looking Rex up and down completely unashamed. “I mean, it’s incredible.”

“Thanks.” He grinned, flexed. Mac zeroed in on his arms and promptly zoned out. Distantly, over Rex’s shoulder, he registered a door slam, but it may as well have been in outer space. “You should join us sometime, if you want. Do you already have a gym?”

“Nope.”

“Right on. Well, we’re at LA Fitness on South 24th Street every Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Dave has got this killer ab routine that’ll have you sweating. He gets results.”

“Yeah?” Mac licked his lips.

“Yeah,” said Rex, and he lifted his shirt to show off a flash of insanely toned stomach.

“Sure,” Mac said breathlessly. “Sure, I’d love to come work out with you. Say, how’s about you give me your number, and I—”

“Mac.”

They looked up. Dennis had appeared nearby, somehow escaping Mac’s notice; he was glaring and red in the face, looking a storm.

“Dennis!” said Mac. “Hey. I—Hi. How’s it...How have you been?”

“Just peachy,” he said through gritted teeth. “Thanks for asking, Mac.”

“Are you okay, have you been taking those vitamins I got you? Hey, you look kinda weird, man. Are you okay?”

“Can I please speak with you in the back office,” he said tersely.

“Oh…” Mac glanced at Rex, torn. He could still see his pecs clear as day in his mind like Rex was standing shirtless in front of him. And, hell, full frontal too—it was Mac’s fantasy. “But we…”

“Now, Mac,” Dennis snapped.

Without waiting to see what Mac would choose, Dennis lurched forward and grabbed him by the arm.

“I’ll come find you later,” Mac told Rex as he was dragged away.

“LA Fitness on Monday,” Rex called back with a wave. “See you around, Mac.”

Mac looked over his shoulder at Rex, helpless, until Dennis got them sequestered in the back room and slammed the door behind them. Mac glanced around, intrigued—he had really always wondered what it was like back here—but he didn’t have much leeway to explore as Dennis dragged him past several closed doors before finding one at the end of the short hall and pushing Mac inside.

“What’s in there?” Mac asked, pointing across the hall at a door behind which a curious sound was coming like metal being sawed in two.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Dennis closed the door, presumably to avoid any further distractions on Mac’s part. He glanced around the room to take it all in. By all accounts, it looked like any regular back office, although that didn’t explain the smell of cheese lingering in the air.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dennis demanded.

Startled, Mac said, “I’m being yelled...for some reason.”

“Because you...you’re...You came into my store! _You_ tell _me_ what you’re doing here.”

“I got roped into doing a stupid thing for Charlie,” he said.

“And that involves bothering the shit out of the people who come in here? Those are paying customers, Mac! _My_ paying customers.”

“Who, Rex? Oh, no, I wasn’t bothering him!” said Mac. “No, no, no. I recognized the book he was reading, so we got to talking, and now I think we’re gonna become, like, gym buddies or something maybe.”

“Cool,” Dennis spat. “So exactly what part of ‘leave me the fuck alone’ made you think it was a good idea to come to my _work_ and start groping my customers?”

“Dennis, I wasn’t, I swear,” he said. “And anyway, you asked _me_ to come back here. I’ve been leaving you alone like you said!”

“Yeah.” He snorted. “Not sure you really get the concept, Mac. Sending six novel-length texts to me per day isn’t _backing off_ . Not sure what ‘get the fuck out’ means where _you_ come from, but—”

“Well I miss you, Dennis!” he said. “I’ve been keeping my distance, I swear. I haven’t come by here _once_ to look at you through the windows!”

“Is that something you thought about?”

“I just, I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Mac looked down at his feet. “We were doing so good with checking in with each other, and I guess I just—I got used to it.”

Dennis’s mouth twisted, a new look coming over his face and then flickering out before Mac could parse what it meant.

“I don’t care,” he said finally. “When I break up with you, it means we’re broken up. No more checking in, no more coming by here.”

“But you said we weren’t dating.”

Dennis paused. “What?”

“To break up with someone, you have to be dating them first,” Mac pointed out. “And you said that we weren’t dating.”

Blush flooded his cheeks, staining through the makeup he had on. Mac watched, enchanted and hungry. He really did miss being the cause of that rising color.

“Whatever you call it, I don’t wanna see you again,” Dennis said, at the same time that Mac said, “I wanna get back together.”

They blinked. “What?” they both said.

“I wanna get back together,” said Mac. “I miss you, Dennis.”

Dennis looked away. He was chewing on his lip and Mac swayed closer, eyes wide.

“No,” Dennis said after a moment.

“I love you,” he tried.

Dennis scoffed. “No you don’t.”

“Yes I do!” Mac said earnestly. “I know what love feels like, Dennis. It’s why I keep going back to that burger place on 7th.”

“Why, are you into the waiter or something?”

“What? No,” Mac said. “That’s where I had that chipotle burger that made me cry. Remember?”

“Oh yeah. That was a good one,” he said, a grin splitting his face. After a second, he shook his head as though remembering something and frowned. “Wait—Are you comparing me to a cheeseburger?!”

“I mean, I love you more than a cheeseburger,” said Mac, spreading his hands. “It was a chipotle burger.”

“Alright.” Dennis rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Mac.”

“And you taste better too,” he said solemnly.

“Mac!”

Dennis shoved him in the chest, but when Mac grabbed his wrist, he sobered and looked at him from beneath his lashes, a sly smile curling his lips. Hesitantly, Mac used the grip on his arm to yank him against his chest. Dennis didn’t resist, or pull away, or shout; so Mac laid a hand against his cheek, stroking gently by his ear.

“It was Dee,” Dennis blurted, before he could speak first.

“What?”

“She choked out that guy. At the deli,” Dennis said. Brows furrowed, he studied the floor. “She’s the one who…”

“Can do magicka,” he said. Dennis flinched, starting to pull away. Mac’s grip tightened on his arms reflexively. “With air. She can do air stuff.”

“Yeah,” he grunted.

Mac frowned, thoughtful. Dennis reached to cup his face, thumb stroking over his jutting lower lip.

“What about the shelves?” he said. “Remember when you knocked over those shelves?”

“The whole place is boobytrapped,” Dennis sighed, pulling out of his arms. “Frank is really paranoid. It’s bizarre.”

“Oh.” Mac thought this over, too. Dennis’s gaze slid back to him, now studying his face. He tugged on Mac’s jacket. Mac said, “Can we kiss now?”

Dennis bit down on his bottom lip, but he couldn’t quite hide his smile.

“Well don’t ask, man,” he said. “It’s incredible I let you get this far.”

“I’ve got plans to go farther, if you let me.”

The last thing he saw before closing his eyes was how happy and handsome Dennis looked before Mac kissed him. Good to know things hadn’t changed.

The best part about Saturdays was that they could still get breakfast, even if they didn’t roll out of bed until 1p.m. (Mac woke up at a quarter to. Dennis, for his part, had been up and about for three hours but he came back to nap right before Mac woke up, so he still thought it counted as sleeping late.)

“I love brunch,” Dennis sighed, clutching Mac’s hand tighter. “Even if $15 for a bacon, egg and cheese is highway robbery.”

“Yeah, but their mimosas are so good,” said Mac. “And they’re bottomless, Dennis. Bottomless!”

Technically the deal was only good for one person, but they were good at sneaking the glass to each other when the waiters weren’t looking.

“I know,” said Dennis. “But you had like ten of them, Mac. If you puke waffles again, I’m not nursing you back to health. We’ve got to meet up with Dee and Charlie.”

“You need to have at least six to make your money back! And I’m not gonna puke,” said Mac, rolling his eyes. He glanced at the neon signs in the window. “By the way, why are we meeting Dee and Charlie in a bar at four in the afternoon?”

“Because my sister and your best friend have decided to become white trash,” Dennis said, pushing open the door with his free hand and electing to let himself go through first. “Also, that waitress that Charlie’s obsessed with is working here now, and she’s got them all wrapped up in some cherry racket she’s running.”

“Holy shit! She’s running underage girls?”

“Huh? No. Probably a lot of money in that though,” Dennis said. “Actual cherries. Maraschinos.”

“And why was I not made aware of this sooner?” Mac demanded. “I’d be great at a cherry scheme!”

“I know, sweetheart, but some people have absolutely no loyalty,” said Dennis, patting his arm. “I think Dee wants to bang that chick, by the way. So gross.”

“Ew! _Her_?”

“I know. That bitch has no taste. Never has,” Dennis observed, watching affectionately as Mac tripped over his shoelace and nearly smashed his face into a nearby table. He caught himself on one hand at the very last second and when he straightened up, Dennis fluffed his hair back into place for him. “I see you’re still wearing the light-up laces, even though they’re far too long. And you keep getting distracted.”

“Me and Charlie invested a lot of money in these babies,” he said. “I gotta show off the product or we’ll never break even, let alone turn a profit!”

They didn’t see their friends around, so they squeezed into the same side of a random booth that gave them good vantage points to see both the front door (for Mac) and their waitress (for Dennis).

“They’re ugly as shit,” Dennis said, drumming the table. “I'm burning them first chance I get.”

“If you do that, have fun paying my bills.”

“I already practically do,” Dennis said, and before Mac could counter with a retort, Dennis waved enthusiastically across the bar. “Hey, Charlie! Dee!”

“Hey guys,” said Charlie. He slid into the booth across with a wide grin.

“What’s up, boners?” said Dee.

“Just talking about how you’ve officially become a pathetic old drunk.” Dennis flicked an old napkin at her.

“We’re not just here to drink!” Dee protested.

“Speak for yourself,” said Charlie, already waving down their waitress—the one he wouldn’t shut up about was working today, of course she was.

“Hello, Charlie,” she said in a bored voice when she came over. “Did you figure out how to get into the back room of Mr. Kim’s yet or are you just here to stare at me?”

“I don’t _stare_ —”

“We haven’t quite cracked it yet, but we’re working on it,” Dee promised, elbowing Charlie’s arm to shut him up. “We’re close.”

“So you _are_ here to stare at me?”

“No!” Dee’s face flooded with color. “No! We, uh—You know how you mentioned bringing someone in to lift the tossed cherries, since last week Charlie almost got caught going back to that bar?”

“Yeah,” said the waitress. Her gaze slid across the booth, lingering on Mac squeezed in next to Dennis with his arm across the back of the booth as though she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be seeing. “Oh, what? You wanna bring in these two?”

“What? Bring me in?” said Mac. “Oh, I could be the muscle! I make great muscle! Right, Dennis?”

“Uh—”

“I’m sort of the coolant around here,” Mac bragged. “I’m like the sheriff of the gang.”

“The _sheriff_?” Dee scoffed so hard she seemed like she might hurt herself.

“What gang?” Charlie asked.

“Our gang.”

“Okay, whatever,” the waitress said. “I just need you to go fish the cherries out of the dumpster after they get thrown away. Do you think you can handle that?”

“I don't think I understand what this grift is supposed to be,” said Dennis.

“We can do it!” Mac said eagerly. “What’s our cut?”

She shrugged. “I’ll give you ten percent.”

“Twenty.”

“Five,” she countered, hands on her hips.

“Ten!”

“Mac, no!” Dennis cried, but she’d already said—

“Deal.”

Mac pumped his fist in the air with a shout. Letting out a pained cry, Dennis smacked him on the arm and buried his face in his hands.

Mac ordered them all a celebratory round of shots, on him—sort of, since the only card in his wallet that hadn’t been turned off yet was the one he’d lifted from Dennis last weekend. They started with just one round, then next thing he knew Charlie was using beer to wash down some sort of everlasting flame in a shot glass and just like that, they were in for a long night.

“I think you’d look a lot better if you showed off a little more skin,” Dennis said, leaning on the bar to keep steady as he yanked on the collar of Mac’s t-shirt.

“You said you hated my sleeveless shirts,” said Mac, even as he swayed closer.

Dennis ran his hand up his arm like he’d forgotten about biceps until Mac mentioned them.

“And I was right about that, Mac.”

His fingers crept higher until he wrapped them right over Mac’s tattoo and squeezed.

“Whatever. You don’t understand these gains I’ve been working on, dude.”

But Mac lost track of Dennis’s next insult when he tipped his chin like that, couldn’t hear him at all because he curled closer when Mac touched his hips. Dennis grasped the back of his neck and looked at him, gaze searing.

He squeezed Dennis tighter as they kissed, bringing their bodies flush together and clutching his waist, bunching up his button-up shirt. Dennis’s hands were lazy in his hair. He was amazing like this, all kiss-drunk and a little bit slow. When Mac trailed his hands up his chest, he hit something that made Dennis let out a soft sound and bite gently into Mac’s lip. His whole body swayed, off-balance.

Mac grasped his face in both hands, keeping Dennis from falling as he pulled away.

“What?” Mac asked.

Dennis shook his head, looking dazed. He was leaning back in already.

“Nothing. I like that,” he breathed.

Mac clutched him closer when they kissed again, long and slow. By the time they parted again, Dennis had made significant headway into feeling him up; Mac caught his hand right before it wandered too far and held it. 

“Another round?” he said.

“Mhm.”

Mac got two beers on tap and meandered back down the bar; he’d had to wade through a cluster of braless undergrads just to get good service, it was unbelievable.

“Reverse sexism is so real, dude,” he announced as he settled next to Dennis.

Dennis was turning to face him when a bigger guy came down the bar with his eyes dead set on Dennis. Mac bristled, instinctively edging one foot in front of him.

“You wanna start talking to my girl, dumb shit?” he said, which was—

“You’re coming in very hot,” said Mac.

“Yeah man, seriously,” said Dennis, holding up his hands. “You’ve got the wrong guy. I’ve been over here with him for like two hours, anyway—”

Mac didn’t usually see Dennis fold under fire—if anything, he tended to add gas—but this guy was 6’5”, easy, and pretty jacked, and Mac was having second thoughts about tussling with him too. Even on Dennis’s behalf.

“You calling her a liar?” he said. “She says she recognizes you. Dennis, right?”

Mac watched Dennis’s eyes slide over his shoulder, then widen; his shoulders stiffened, almost unnoticeable except it was Dennis and he was Mac, so he noticed.

“Oh...oh.” Dennis swallowed. “I mean—yeah, I’m...Maybe! But that was forever ago, man, I swear. Nowadays I’m…”

He gestured, loose and unsure, toward Mac. Feeling bolder, Mac stepped more securely in front of him.

“Dennis is a big homo,” Mac assured the guy, spreading his arms to cover Dennis’s body more effectively. “Like, even bigger than me. Well…”

“Huge,” Dennis agreed, nodding. His hands landed delicate and protective on Mac’s shoulders, just spiders at first until Mac rolled them back and Dennis squeezed, firm.

“No way he’s moving in on anyone’s girl now, alright?” Mac said with a little, breathless laugh.

“So you _did_ screw my girl two years ago?”

“Two years?!”

“Are you _looking_ for a fight?” Mac asked.

“Mind your fucking business.”

“Don’t talk to him like that. He’s trying to talk some fucking sense into that thick skull of yours!”

A sneer curled Dennis’s mouth, delicate and barbed; his gaze flicked over their aggressor, and Mac instinctively braced for trouble.

“Hey…”

“If your over-pumped, shit-for-brains skull can still _think_ through the fog of all those steroids and power shakes.”

Mac saw the punch coming, well, about one second before it hit him in the face. He staggered back into Dennis’s arms; through a sudden headache, he heard the guy say, “You gonna put up a fight, asshole? I heard you can choke people out. Show me what the fuck you’ve got!”

Dennis heaved Mac back to his feet. When he was steady enough by himself, Mac squared up—he only needed the second’s worth of confusion his defensive stance created so Dennis could smash the first beer bottle he saw over the edge of the bar. The guy backed off by a foot, eyes darting, reassessing the situation. He took a step forward, unsure, but he couldn’t come any closer because Mac used the new space between them to thrust his hands out.

“Duck!” he shouted, and he magicked a pair of dime-sized void balls into Tough Guy’s eyes and threw himself to the floor. Dennis came crashing down a split second before him.

“Come on,” he hissed, while the angry boyfriend—still blind—let out a frustrated roar and swung his fists forward wildly. Dennis grabbed Mac’s shoulder.

They crawled a couple tables away before they dared getting to their feet. Mac checked over his shoulder. 

“What’s your name, you piece of shit?” Douchebag shouted. He spun around and crashed over a table. “I’m gonna find you, you cowardly motherfucker piece of shit! What’s your fucking name?!”

Dennis grabbed Mac’s hand. Mac turned around right as he spotted, and nearly tripped over, an unopened case of beer in their path, and Dennis’s warning came just in time for him to jump it.

“He’s fucking gay!” Mac yelled over his shoulder, still confused; why the fuck was this dude so bent out of shape about something that happened forever ago, all things considered?

Dennis squeezed his hand as they made their escape outside, with the waitresses’ distant cries for order only following them up until the door swung shut. And then, quiet.

They kept going down the block, albeit slower, and with Dennis checking over his shoulder every few yards. Mac tugged him into a doorway with the hand still slipped through his own.

“I think we’re good,” Mac said, peering around to make sure they weren’t followed. He hoped this awning made them more difficult to see, as well.

“You think he’d come after us?”

“He was pretty pissed when we left,” said Mac. “I should have taken him down with a sweet tornado or something.”

“For the last time, Mac, you can’t make a fucking tornado. You’re a cloud kinda guy.”

Mac pouted in the other direction. His vision was a little bit blurry, but he thought he was looking directly at a Five Guys. Suddenly the urge to eat a double cheeseburger nearly overwhelmed him; he glanced back at Dennis, mouth open and ready to suggest drunk munchies.

But Dennis was looking forlornly down the way they’d come.

“I left my credit card.”

“So?” Mac squeezed his hand. “We can go get it tomorrow. Hey, I’m kinda hungry. Are you—?”

“Dee and Charlie are gonna abuse the shit out of it,” he fretted, ignoring Mac entirely. “My tab’s still open.”

Mac grabbed his chin roughly, yanking him around to look square in the eye.

“Yeah, but we kept your face looking pretty,” he said gruffly.

“Excuse you! Are you saying you’d break up with me ‘cause I got in one bar fight? One little black eye and that’s it, we’re through?”

“Bar fights are badass, Den,” he assured him, cupping his face in both hands. Dennis looked away, grumbling. Mac tapped his cheek with a thumb. “Of course that’d be hot.”

“I guess a big part of the pretty-boy appeal is my noticeable lack of scars,” he conceded. He gripped Mac’s wrist loosely, looking at him from under his lashes in that way he knew Mac couldn’t resist.

“Yeah…”

His hands slid to grip his shoulders. He felt unfocused; Dennis frowned at him for a second before flickering into a grin. 

“You’re thinking about how sexy I’d look with a scar, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Dumbass,” Dennis said, his voice loaded with affection. He stroked Mac’s cheek, patting him this side of too hard. “Come here.”

Mac went in, thrills shooting through him when he did like they were still just friends and Dennis was winding his arms around his neck outside of his apartment for the first time, snowfall all around them. But the spring evening was warm, and Dennis made a content sound when Mac squeezed him around the waist, wiggling closer; it wasn’t fresh and new, and Dennis touched him with more purpose and let him get closer with more trust. But he still blinked, slow and confused, when they parted in a way that made Mac’s heart constrict.

“We could go to a different bar,” said Mac, slipping his hand into Dennis’s as they started walking. “Or—ooh! The record shop you’ve been wanting to check out?”

“It’s the middle of the night, Mac, they’re gonna be closed.”

“Oh yeah…” He frowned. Dennis gave his hand a little squeeze. “We can go watch a movie at my place.”

“I don’t like your place. It’s too small,” he complained. “I don’t like fucking in that bed either. It’s lumpy.”

“Excuse the fuck out of me, King Dennis. I don’t remember buying that mattress for you.”

“You should’ve,” Dennis said, voice slipping lower, teasing. “I helped break it in.”

“I was getting plenty of action before I met you, pal.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dennis rolled his eyes. Even in profile, in the dark when Mac’s vision was blurry from drink, Dennis was gorgeous. Especially when his face lit up suddenly like that, his fingers tightening on Mac’s. “Oh! Oh, Mac, remember that underground fight club my dad was telling us about? All magicka allowed, no holds barred?”

“Oh _hell_ yes!” Mac pumped his free hand in the air, causing Dennis to laugh. Another point in Dennis’s favor: Making him laugh got Mac warm all over. “Let’s go check that out, dude!”

Dennis grinned, already tugging Mac down a different street. Mac slipped his arm around Dennis’s shoulders, pulling him tight to his side.

“Don’t worry, dude, I’ll protect you if any stray fireballs come your way.”

Dennis snorted. He plucked at Mac’s hand dangling off his shoulder, finger tracing his palm with the lightning scar.

“I’d be more worried about yourself there, baby boy,” said Dennis. “You don’t have the best track record with fire.”

Mac rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but my superhuman instincts would kick in if _you_ were in danger,” he said.

Funny, he thought. Dennis didn’t have any magicka, but—when he pinked over like that, grumbling under his breath and shrugging Mac’s arm off his shoulder just to grab his hand...he didn’t need any, not to make Mac feel like he couldn’t breathe. That was just him.

“You’re so stupid,” Dennis said.

He clutched his hand tighter, still not looking at him. Grinning, Mac pressed a kiss to his hair and let him lead the way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone for reading! 💕💖


End file.
